Because He is Steve Randle
by JacksBoonie
Summary: Steve finally gets Ponyboy alone, and it's not for the reason Pony thinks. But as things start to unfold between them, family, friends, and social workers seem to get in the way, and Ponyboy has trouble keeping it together. StevePonyboy slash.
1. Chapter One

AN: Hello, Kats and Kittens! How're things? This story just sort of . . . fell out of my brain. Cranium leakage . . . I must get that fixed. Anyone know a good plumber? Well, I hope you enjoy nonetheless. I'm rather proud of it . . . I'm pretty sure, anyway. I'll let you decide. :)

Disclaimer: I do not own the book (novel?) The Outsiders. I do not own the characters of the book (again . . . novel?) The Outsiders.

Because He's Steve Randle

"Hey, Kid, where's Soda?"

He grinds the words out before the slam of the screen door can be heard, and I tighten my jaw, not wanting to turn from the television. For once in my life, I have the house to myself. No Darry, no Soda, no Two-Bit, Dally, or Johnny. And _definitely_ no Steve Randle . . . Until now.

"He ain't here," I reply curtly, knowing that these words will most likely drive him out of the house. "Boss called him in. Somebody couldn't work, so he's gonna pull a double shift."

"How 'bout Darry?" Steve inquires, sticking his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans.

"Just left for the grocery store. We're outta beer and chocolate cake mix."

"So you're here all alone, then?"

Why's he so interested in me anyway? It's not like we ever get along. I'm just some stupid kid he doesn't have time for, and he's just some dumb car mechanic I can't stand.

"Wouldn't be if you moochers would stop drinking and eating over here all the time. Damn grocery bill's been wracking up, and Darry barely makes enough to-"

And, suddenly, he has my shirt bunched in his fists, and he's pulling me from the couch and slamming me against the wall. I always knew he had it out for me. I mean, all those threats about catching me alone one of these days . . . I didn't think he was _serious_. But I must have done something to piss him off recently, because that look in his eyes . . . I've never seen anything like it before.

His breathing is weird, and he won't stop looking at me . . . But that's all he's doing, really. Breathing and looking. And then his grip loosens, and his hands slither across my chest and around to my back until his arms encircle me, until I'm pulled right up next to him, and our noses are barely a centimeter apart. He leans in, finally, abruptly, and his lips are on mine, hot and wet with spit . . .

And I can think of nothing more to do then kiss him back.

His fists are bunched again, but this time they're tugging at my thin, white shirt, pulling it over my head and mussing my hair. I would yell at him, tell him he ruined what took me almost half an hour to get right, but his lips are, suddenly, there again; pressing, squeezing, needy, desperate. For some reason I can't deny him, and I don't as his tongue forces its way into my mouth.

My hands are on his shoulders, and my fingers dig into them, causing a small whimper to escape his throat. He's everywhere, now, his fingertips gliding over my chest, my back, my stomach, and soon they find their way to the belt buckle right below my navel. I gasp and break the kiss, panting and staring into his lust-filled eyes. He isn't scared. He's never scared. Because he's Steve Randle. Why should he be?

"Christ," he pants, shaking his head slightly and closing his eyes. "Christ, no, you're just a kid. What the hell am I doing? What the _fuck_ do I think I'm doing?"

He pulls away, but I latch on tight, and he looks at me curiously.

"You started it."

My voice is breathy, and my body begins to tremble. I feel as if I'll keel over if I let him go, and he must know because his arms are there again, strong and warm, encompassing.

"God, Pony, you can't even _begin_ to understand any of this," he tries to explain, but all I can focus on is the fact that he actually said my name. He never says my name . . . At least not on purpose. His accent is deeper than mine, grittier. Soothing. His family comes from a long line of southerners, I think.

"I understand enough," I reply defiantly, putting on my best tuff look, but it only makes him chuckle. Why is it whenever I'm trying to be serious people think it's funny? And then we're down the hallway, and he's pulling me into my bedroom and locking the door behind us. My stomach twists and flutters, but I don't show the anxiety wracking my body. I don't show it because he's Steve Randle.

And he turns to me one last time, leaning against the door with his head cocked to one side as he says, "You're sure? Cause I don't know what's gonna happen . . . And if it does, I don't think I'll be able to stop it." I puff my chest out, another attempt at looking older than I am that only makes him laugh.

"I could stop you . . . If I wanted to," I defend myself.

"Sure," Steve smirks, and then I'm on my back on the bed, and he's crushing me, stradling me, trying to undo my belt buckle while shoving his tongue down my throat. My arms wrap around him, my fingernails digging into the muscle on either side of his spine. He groans into my mouth, finally getting my pants undone and pushes them down over my thighs, but that's as far as they'll go . . . It'll do.

He grinds his hips into my own, and I arch my back, gasping. Shit, I hope Darry and Soda don't get home anytime-

"Hey, Pony! Come and help with these groceries!"

"_Fuck_!" Steve curses under his breath, jumping off of me and pulling me up. Quickly, he buttons my pants up again, slicks my hair back to an acceptable greasy forest of blonde strands, and grabs me a flannel shirt from my closet. I open my mouth to thank him, but he covers it, shaking his head and quietly making his way to the window on the other side of the bed. The handle of the door jiggles slightly, and both Steve and I freeze.

"Ponyboy?" Soda's voice asks softly.

"Uh," I stammer, thinking of an excuse. "I'm getting dressed. Just a minute."

A soft laugh from the other side of the door is followed by a response, "Since when are you so shy? Come on, Pony. Open up. I'm all sweaty, and I need to get a new pair of clothes." Steve looks to me desperately. Soda will hear the window if it's opened, and he'll wonder what I'm doing opening a window when I won't even unlock our bedroom door.

"W-What're you doing home so early? I thought you had to work late," I stall, motioning the older boy to hurry up and take his chance. Suddenly, with a sharp jiggle of the handle, the clicking sound of the lock coming undone seems to echo through the small room, and the knob twists, revealing Soda's exhausted face.

"Ricky decided he wasn't going to play sick after all," he says, his eyebrows lifting in surprise as he finds Steve near the window.

"Hey, Steve," he greets cheerfully. "What're you doing here?"

"Well . . ." Steve pauses, completely dumbfounded for a few seconds. "I was . . . waiting for _you_, of course. Why you gotta be workin' all the time?"

Soda smiles that winning smile of his and begins to strip out of his sweaty, oil-stained clothes, finding a clean outfit and lazily pulling himself into it.

"Someone's gotta pay the bills around here," he replies, sitting on the bed and tying his sneakers in triple knots, just the way he likes them. "Darry can't do it by himself, and if Pony, here, is ever going to get outta this crap town, we need to keep saving for his college fund."

A silence falls over the room, awkward for, seemingly, only Steve and myself.

"You staying for dinner, Steve?" Soda asks casually, standing and turning to his long-time, childhood friend.

"No," the other boy replies almost a little _too_ quickly. "I, uh . . . I gotta get home. Dad's making pancakes, and if I'm not there, he'll likely pass out and burn the whole kitchen down." He leaves, and it is all I can do to restrain myself from running after him and begging him to stay. Soda turns to me, and for just a moment his smile wavers.

"Everything all right, Pony?" He places a hand on my shoulder and I look to him innocently.

"Sure," I force my lips into a smile, stretching them almost painfully. "Things are swell."

"Good," Soda's grin resumes his face. "Darry and I brought in all the groceries." He leads me towards the door. "Which means _you_ get to put them all away."

And so I find myself wishing that Soda _had_ walked in on us. But that could never happen. Not when I'm with Steve.

He is, after all, Steve Randle.

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Well, Kats and Kittens, that's what I've got. Don't maim me. It's not my fault my brain leaks. :(  
Anywho, I'm pretty sure I have an idea for another chapter.  
Anyone interested/cricket chirp/ ANYONE?


	2. Chapter Two

AN: Okay, so I forgot to mention in the last chapter that this is an AU story (hence why Johnny and Dally are still alive while Pony has blonde hair). Anywho, I wrote this next chapter at work, so if it seems a bit "out of it," it's because I had to concentrate on the customers more than my story (go figure). And since I've been on my feet for 8 1/2 hours, I think I'll just take it easy and get this posted. Yes?

Enjoy, Kats and Kittens.

Chapter Two:

"Who wants popcorn?"

Steve stands and looks around at the gang sitting in the drive-in plastic chairs. By some miracle, no one had to work or be out with their girlfriend or get drunk and steal from the local drug store (not that Two-Bit hadn't already done that, but he is less drunk than usual, so I suppose that counts for something, right?).

Rarely ever do we get these sort of moments, and rarely ever does Steve offer to buy us popcorn. He takes orders for food and drinks, then turns to me.

"Hey, Pony, why don't you give me a hand?"

"I can help ya, Steve," Soda starts, but I am already on my feet, attempting not to look too excited.

"Race ya!" I laugh, sprinting towards the "snack shack." His footsteps are right behind me, and then his figure is visible in my peripheral vision. He has me by the arm, and he's leading me around the building to where it's deserted and dark and where most couples go to make out. I'm sure he's brought his girlfriend here more than a few times.

I don't mind, really. About his girlfriend, I mean. Because right now his thoughts are on me, and right now he has me shoved up against the cold stone of the wall. He's crushing me, and my ribs feel like they'll crack under the pressure, but the adrenaline rush and the lack of oxygen are making me dizzy, creating a sort of self-induced high.

Sounds waft and echo from everywhere. Wet noises of people's tongues scraping across skin, groans and moans as they push desperately against one another. I gasp as Steve's fingertips slowly inch their way into my jeans. If I had my way, we'd be here all night, but . . .

"W-We've only got so long before they start wondering where we are," I manage through shuddering breaths.

"Let 'em wonder," he replies, and I can feel the smirk he wears against my lips. "We'll just say we met up with someone or something, got to talkin', I guess."

That's Steve. He says everything with such confidence that not even a lie detector can tell if what comes out of his mouth is the truth or not.

And then he's on his knees and fumbling with the button on my pants.

I want to tell him to stop, that I'm not ready, that it's too soon. We had only just kissed for the first time this morning.

If he could only see the look on my face, if he could only read my thoughts.

If I could only say his name . . .

"Steve!"

Wow. That was louder than expected. Oh, wait . . . That wasn't me . . .

0 o 0 o 0

The grip on my arm is painful, but I dare not make a single noise, not after what had just happened over the past few minutes.

Soda had found us. My initial thought had been, "Thank God it isn't Darry," but I soon realized that in Steve's case, Soda could be more dangerous than _ten_ Darrys put together. Steve had stood slowly, not looking at my brother at first, then turned to face him, blocking me from view so I could put myself right.

There are few things that scare Steve Randle, and between him and Soda, _he's_ usually the more aggressive one. So nothing could scare Steve more than an angry Sodapop Curtis because it takes a lot to get Soda mad . . . _a lot_.

And right then and there, he was the picture of Steve's worst nightmare.

The yelling came first. Soda shot off like a bottle rocket . . . except that instead of diminishing, he just kept growing louder and louder . . . and louder.

Finally, the yelling stopped. But it's always more dangerous when the yelling ceases and all that surrounds you is silence . . . Silence because the screaming has taken away the fun of being in the dark with someone you know, someone you love, or some complete stranger.

How Soda's fist found Steve's jaw in the pitch black, I'll never know. Hell, I'm still trying to figure out how he found us in the first place. I could just barely see his outline in the darkness, and for a moment it looked like he was going to pounce on his now ex-best friend. He hesitated, however, and decided to grab me and pull me away from the scene.

And that's why my stomach has seemed to fall into an endless abyss. Because Soda's not only dragging me away from Steve . . . He's dragging me towards Darry, and I can see on his face that he has every intention of telling our eldest brother what he just witnessed.

The only problem is he doesn't exactly know _what_ he witnessed.

What he probably saw (if he could see at all) was Steve about to . . . Well, we all get the picture, I'm sure . . . and he probably saw the freaked look on my face. No wonder he blames Steve. It's all my fault.

"Soda . . ." I start quietly but receive no answer from the stoic face my brother has plastered on. "S-Soda?"

"Don't say another word, Pony," he forces roughly, and for the first time I can see the tears welling in his eyes and his determination to hold them back. "Just . . . Don't say anything."

I take a deep breath, hold it in for a moment before whispering, "You aren't going to tell on Steve and me, are you?"

This stops him in his tracks, and he spins around to stare at me wide-eyed.

"Pony . . . You let him . . . God, what were you . . ." Soda stammers, a disgusted look in his eyes. My heart sinks. I thought _he_, of all people, would understand. He's _supposed_ to understand.

Why doesn't he understand?

He's pulling me again, this time at a faster pace. Great. I guess he figures if he walks fast enough, this will never have happened.

Only it _did_ happen. And we're getting dangerously closer and closer to Darry and the others. I open my mouth to plead one last time with him, but I am cut off as Soda yells Darry's name.

We're standing right behind them now, and they're all laughing because someone on screen sad something witty.

"Just a second, little brother," Darry laughs. "This is the best-"

"Darry!" Soda yells his name so loud that several heads turn and a few people shush us.

Our older brother turns with a look of surprise on his face, and seeing Soda's fury and my obvious anxiety, he stands and heads towards us.

Soda, suddenly, turns to me and seethes through clenched teeth, "Stay right here."

"What's going on?" Darry asks quietly, ruffling his fingers through my hair.

"We need to talk," Soda says as he starts to walk away. Darry spares me one last questioning look before following him.

"Hey, Ponyboy," Johnny whispers, but I can't look at him. I can't look at any of them. "Pony!" He tries again, and this time I give him, Two-Bit, and Dally a fleeting glance.

"Hey, Buddy, what's wrong?" Two-Bit turns almost fully in his seat to look at me carefully. "Where's Steve?"

My bottom lip begins to quiver, and I rub my arm where Soda had squeezed too hard. My eyes are on him now, and Darry keeps nodding and listening, looking in my direction occasionally.

"Pony, where's Steve?" Dally demands, his voice more insistent than Two-Bit's or Johnny's. Darry's jaw is tightening little by little, and his eyes are now boring imaginary holes into my head. My breaths are labored, my chest too tight. Did it suddenly get hotter? My head spins with dizziness and I take a step backward to keep my balance.

"Pony?" Darry questions, a cautious look in his eye. He thinks I'm going to bolt. Maybe I should . . . Wait, did I mean that?

Before I have anymore time to think, my feet are pounding against the pavement, my name being called as they try to run after me.

I don't know where I'm going, but as long as it's as far from this place as possible, I couldn't really give a damn. Their voices are getting further away. Thank God for track.

And, so, for the second time in my life, I'm running from the very people who had promised to take care of me, to understand, and to love me no matter what.

Liars.

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

So, Kats and Kittens, what do you think? Where do you think he'll go? What do you think he'll do?

. . . Seriously, cause I have NO clue . . . I'm not kidding . . . Stop laughing . . . It's not that funny . . . You're done . . .


	3. Chapter Three

AN: Wow! Great feedback, Kats and Kittens! I'm sooo glad you like it so far. I'm trying to think of how long I want to make it. I usually don't set a limit on my stories, and that's usually how they end up not getting finished. Oh well. We'll just have to see how it goes, yea? Enjoy the next chapter, guys!

Chapter Three:

"What do you want?"

I stare up into the dark eyes of the man towering over me, my body still heaving and shaking from running so fast. I had lost my brothers and the rest of the gang at the park. They had been faster than expected, but Darry and them were mostly about upper-body strength. None of them had ever gone out for track.

Well, Two-Bit had once but only on a dare. Coach said if he ever came near the track again, he'd have the team use him as a pole vault bar. Two-Bit told him that he already had an after-school gig as the wrestling mat . . . For some reason the coaches don't favor Two-Bit very much.

"M-M-M," I stammer, having to stop as a coughing fit takes over and I try not to throw up my dinner all over the man's porch. "Mr. Randle."

Steve's father looks at me drunkenly, a near-empty beer bottle swinging loosely in his hand as he sways slightly.

"Yea?" He asks, the word drawn out and rough. His voice is scratchy, worn, nothing like Steve's.

"Is . . . Is Steve here?" I pant, starting to regain my composure. The man squints his eyes curiously as if trying to focus his vision to better study me.

"Nah," he replies finally, bringing the beer to his lips and tipping the bottle up to finish it off. "He's out with some friends. Don't know when he'll be back."

"Ponyboy?"

I turn abruptly, thinking that I've been found out, but relax some as I find Steve standing on the walkway. His jaw is red, and I can already see signs of swelling. The look on his face clearly states "What the fuck are you doing here? Haven't you caused enough trouble?"

"St-Steve," I manage, my chest becoming tight again. I can't control the trembling that wracks my body, and I don't know if it's from the adrenaline or seeing the other boy.

He walks up to me, gently taking my arm and leading me past his father into the house. His room is covered with posters. Cars, girls, baseball players, wrestlers, bands; he has it all. He closes the door and sits me down on the bed, opening the top drawer of his dresser and fumbling around until he finds what he needs.

"Here," he hands me a cigarette, lighting it for me when I put it to my lips. "You all right?"

"I, uh . . ." I take a long drag off of the cigarette, closing my eyes and releasing the smoke in a quivering gust. "Soda . . . He told Darry . . . And I just couldn't take it. I had to run. They were lookin' at me funny, and the guys started askin' where you were and-"

"Alright," Steve calms me down as I start to cry, pulling me towards him so that my head lies on his chest. "It's okay. Quit your blubberin'. Everything's fine." I revel in the feel of his cotton shirt, wrapping my arms around his waist and concentrating on the beat of his heart. The soothing sound is the last thing I hear before sleep finally blankets me.

0 o 0 o 0

"Pony."

I groan as I'm, suddenly, pulled from my warm dream world; a world where everything is perfect, and Darry and Soda and everyone else are happy, and Steve and I can be together without worry or fear. I don't want the real world anymore. I just want to sleep forever.

"Come on, Pony. We gotta get you home."

My eyes open slightly, but I squeeze them shut again as the light stings them.

"What time is it?" I mutter, raising my head and squinting up at Steve, who is leaning over me. He smiles, and it's one of those genuine smiles where he quirks one side of his mouth upward and his nose crinkles slightly, his eyes taking on a glossy sheen.

"Past ten," he replies, sitting down and tying his shoe on, "and I gotta work at noon."

My head drops back onto the pillow that smells of his cologne, and I sigh, saying, "Can't I just stay here today?"

"Nope," Steve grunts as he leans down to get his other shoe. "Told your brothers I'd have you back this morning." At this remark, I sit up quickly, my eyes wide.

"They called?" I ask hurriedly.

"No," he shakes his head, finally turning to look me in the eyes. "I called _them_."

"What?" I cry incredulously. "But why?"

"They're your brothers, God damn it," Steve curses, standing and scrubbing his face with his fingertips. "And it took a lot of convincing to let you stay here last night, so I don't want to hear another word. Now, come on. Get your shoes on so I can walk you home."

With a sunken heart, I find my shoes and slowly pull them on, taking my time with the laces. Steve knows I'm stalling, but he doesn't say anything, and I'm grateful. The longer it takes to get home, the longer it'll be before I get chewed out by Darry and Soda.

0 o 0 o 0

They're on the porch when the house comes into sight. Darry is rigid like he had been the night before. Soda is leaning against the wall, his hands deep in his pockets as he tries to look like it's just another day in the hot little town of Tulsa. I wish it was. I'd probably be having eggs now, trying to find a place to sit while Two-Bit sat on the floor and the rest took up the couch.

But here we are. And wishing isn't going to do any good, so I might as well stop.

We're at the gate, and I can't move, my limbs numb from head to foot. Steve waits for a moment then swings it open, ushering me into our yard as I avert my eyes to the ground. I should tell him to leave, to go while he still can, but I can't. I want him here with me. I'm selfish that way, I guess, but I won't be able to stand facing this alone. We stop just before we get to the steps, and I glance fleetingly up at my oldest brother. His eyes are on me, completely emotionless, and I think that's what scares me the most.

Darry's emotions are usually very easy to determine. His eyes . . . what do they call them? . . . "windows to the soul" or some such thing. And it's true with Darry. He's very readable, easy to figure out. If he's mad, you know it, cause his eyes flame and his muscles tense and that vein just above his left temple starts to throb.

Without these indications, he's a blank slate, and that makes him dangerous because you can't tell if he's going to attack you . . . or just plain cut you into tiny, little pieces to hide in the wall.

"Darryl." Steve is the first to speak, and it seems to break the tension slowly circling us and drawing closer.

"We need to talk," Darry says quietly, his gaze shifting from me to the boy behind me. My eyes follow. "Inside."

Steve is silent for a moment, contemplating my brother's words, no doubt. He knows that if he goes inside, it'll take a lot more than a couple of hours to get out what needs to be said, and that will mean being late for work. He glances towards me, giving an assuring grin before looking back at Darry and shrugging.

"Alright."

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Okay, short chapter. My sincerest apologies, but it's almost 3 in the morning, and if I have to get up at 6am to work, I'd better get at least _some_ sleep, yea? I promise to write a longer chapter next. I've got a couple of days off, so I'll have plenty of time to writewritewrite.

Until the next chapter, Kats and Kittens:)


	4. Chapter Four

AN: Ugh. So much for writing, eh? Sorry, you guys. I guess I needed to sleep more than I thought. These late nights aren't doing me any good. Especially if school's going to be starting soon.

Ugh . . . School . . .

Well, enjoy!

Chapter Four:

The silence is almost deafening. Darry and Soda sit on one side of the kitchen table, Steve and I sitting opposite. Our chairs are about a foot apart, but it feels like miles.

"So," Darry starts. He being the oldest, and all, he probably figures he has to. "What's been happening between you two?"

Steve and I exchange a nervous look before the older boy says, "It started yesterday morning . . ."

0 o 0 o 0

"And . . . how long have you felt like this, Steve?" My older brother questions cautiously. He sounds like a psychiatrist, and I want to punch him in the face for thinking that Steve is some derranged teenager in need of mental help.

Steve shakes his head, looking to the table and replying, "I dunno. A while, I guess."

Soda, suddenly, stands, knocking his chair backwards and leaning over the table to glare into Steve's petrified eyes.

"How could you do this to him? He's a _kid_, for Christ's sake!" He nearly yells. "You can't just manipulate people like that, Steve. It's not right!"

Steve says nothing in his defense, and frustration slowly grows in my mind. How can he just sit there and take this? How can he let Darry and Soda get things so mixed up and not even bother to fix it?

Why isn't he being _Steve Fucking Randle_?

Well, they've got another thing coming . . .

"Soda," I say softly, speaking for the first time since we arrived at the house.

"It's okay, Pony," Darry stops me before I can continue. "You don't have to say anything. None of this is your fault."

"But-" I start.

"You just take whatever you want, don't you?" Soda interrupts, slamming his fists against the table. "You don't regard anyone's feelings. You can't force yourself on people, Steve. That's why your girlfriend had to get an abortion!"

"I wanted him to," I whisper abruptly, making all three boys turn to me.

"Wh-What?" Soda asks, the look on his face clearly stating "Please don't say I heard what I thought I did."

I stand slowly, leaning into his face with a determined look.

"I wanted him to," I say loudly, clearly so that there is no mistake.

"Pony, you don't mean that," Soda pleads desperately.

"I tried, Soda," I explain, my voice cracking. I stop and swallow hard, continuing, "I tried liking girls, I really did. I looked at them, I touched them, I even . . . found those magazines you hide in the closet." His cheeks color and mine follow shortly. "I can't do it anymore. I don't feel anything when I'm with a girl . . . But it's different with Steve. I _feel_ something. I can't explain it. It's just . . . _better_."

"Ponyboy, you're just a kid," Darry tries to persuade me that I don't know what I'm talking about. "You're just a little mixed up, is all. Puberty can do that. I don't know what you've been feeling, but it can't be . . . _love_."

"You wanna bet?" I ask harshly. In the next few seconds, I have Steve's collar clutched in my fist, and I'm pulling him into a deep kiss. He's stiff at first, wondering what my brothers' reactions will be, and when nothing comes, he relaxes, stringing his fingers through my hair and resting them on my shoulders. I can hear Soda's protesting gasp, but it is Steve that finally pulls us apart, resting his forhead against mine for a moment before releasing me and starting towards the door as he mumbles something about being late for work.

My heart thumps painfully with the slam of the door, and I don't look at my brothers as I walk into the bathroom, saying, "I need to take a shower." I hear not a word from either of them, and neither knock on the door, so I figure I'm safe as I pull the spare razor blade from the cabinet above the sink. I press it against my wrist, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to feel the pain of the sharp object.

"One little swipe," I whisper, looking up at myself in the mirror. "One little flick of my fingers would be all . . ." They wouldn't miss me. Not Darry or Soda. Did you _see_ the looks on their faces as Steve was telling them about yesterday? About last night? God, I could've left right then, and it probably wouldn't have mattered.

They were apalled. They couldn't stand the sight of me. They had kept their eyes to the table or Steve or some object that wasn't _me_. And when I kissed him . . . that must have been the salt on the already gaping wound. I didn't see their reactions. I didn't have to.

Darry must have been horrified. I mean, sure, in the shit hole where we live, it isn't all that uncommon to see two guys together . . . But nobody expects to see it in right in _front_ of them, in their own house, no less. Soda was probably steaming. He had told me once about love. How it was real nice most the time and how I'd find me a girl someday to share that feeling with. I'm sure he hadn't pictured Steve as that lucky person.

My thoughts focus, once again, on the blade that is now digging a thin, red line into my skin. I drop it, letting it fall into the sink, and cover my face as I silently begin to sob. I calm down some and rinse the thin strip of metal of any signs of blood, putting it in its place behind the mirror and starting the shower.

I need someone who'll understand me. Someone who won't judge me as soon as they hear what's happened. I don't know about any of the guys . . . except maybe Johnny . . . Would Johnny get it? Would Johnny turn away from me?

I step into the shower, washing away the dry blood on my wrist. It's already stopped bleeding, barely noticeable, even if someone were looking for it.

"Johnny will get it," I mutter, nodding to myself as if having to convince my mind that I'm telling the truth. "Johnny will know what to do."

0 o 0 o 0

Midnight finally comes after hours of tossing and turning, and I quietly lift the window panel up. It's muggy outside, but it usually is this time of year. Careful not to lean on the left side of the sill, I slowly climb outside. Too many nights of sneaking in and out had taught me about the squeaky right side of the sill and how light a sleeper my eldest brother is.

Thank goodness Soda had decided to sleep out on the couch. I had felt somewhat offended when he had grabbed an extra blanket and pillow from the closet without a word, but I now I think it's for the best. I mean, who wants to share a bed with their faggot little brother, huh? I sigh at the thought as I drop to the ground, quietly sprinting towards the gate and jumping it like a hurdle. It's one of my favorite events in track, and I've practiced it enough to be able to land on the other side without a sound.

My goal is Johnny's house. I had thought about waiting until morning, but the constant roaring in my head had forced me to make the decision to leave immediately. I ponder for a moment about going to Steve's house, but at this point, it may only make things worse.

Before long, I reach the Cade residence. Even at near one in the morning, his parents are still going at it, yelling for the whole neighborhood to hear. The neighbors must be used to it, however, because not a single light is on in any of the surrounding houses.

I turn and start towards the lot, knowing Johnny won't be home if his parents are bellowing their lungs out. I'm sure he'd want to sleep outside rather than crash at one of the boys' houses.

As I approach the lot, my hands deep in my pockets and my body shivering despite the heat, I see the outline of a lump lying on one of the tattered couches circling the fire pit. I hasten my pace, looking around cautiously to make sure that no cops are making the rounds.

Leaning down, I gently shake the figure and whisper, "Johnny." He moans, turning slightly but remaining asleep.

"Johnny!" I say a little louder, and this time he opens his eyes groggily and squints up at me.

"Hey," I smile somewhat nervously, not knowing what Darry and Soda had told the others.

"Pony?" Johnny sits up, staring at me with a mix of relief and confusion. "Where the hell you been, man? We've been awful worried."

"Yea," I look to the ground, taking a deep, shuddering breath and letting it loose unevenly.

"Somethin' wrong?" The other boy asks, a curious look on his face.

"Johnny . . . How much did Soda and Darry tell you about the other night at the drive-in?"

He thinks for a moment, shrugging at last and saying, "Nothing, really. Only that somethin' happened between you and Steve. You guys get into a fight or somethin'? You both seemed to get along okay when you left to get popcorn." I rub my fingers roughly against my scalp, sighing and looking up into Johnny's inquiring eyes.

"Yea . . . Somethin' happened, alright."

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Well, Kats and Kittens, this chapter was a long time coming . . . All right, not _that_ long but long enough, I suppose. I am currently emersed in the hell-hole known as "Band Camp." And before you ask, no there was not "this one time at band camp..." and, yes, I do play the flute, but _NO_, I do not shove it in places it should not go . . . That is the end, and I will say no more . . . DO NOT SPEAK OF THIS . . . EVER! . . .

On that happy note, Good Day Sirs:)


	5. Chapter Five

AN: Hey, Kats and Kittens! Thanks so much for the feedback:) I'm so glad you like the story so far. As per request, I will _not_ be going Emo!Pony for this fic (I hadn't planned to anyway, but now it's definitely official). I just sort of added that bit with Pony in the bathroom because I wanted to express that he was willing to go there if needed, but hopefully things will pick up before that happens . . . I'm not exactly sure where I'm going. I'll just let the fingers do their work.

Enjoy:)

Chapter Five:

Johnny stares at me with wide eyes, his cheeks a deep red and his jaw slack.

"You mean, he was gonna . . ."

I nod slightly, watching his reaction carefully.

"Did . . . Did you _want_ him to?" He asks timidly, his expression almost frightened as if he thinks I'll strike.

I pull my knees to my chest, squeezing them tightly as I think before replying, "I . . . I don't know."

Suddenly, the tears hiding behind my eyes can stay hidden no longer, and they begin to stream down my face.

"Shit, Johnny, why am I so fucked up?" I sob, burying my face into my arms.

"Don't say that, Ponyboy," he places a hand on my shoulder and scoots over next to me. "You're just a little confused is all." My older brother's words through Johnny's mouth.

"I am not, either!" I sniffle angrily. "I know what I feel when I'm with Steve. And it ain't 'confused.' "

"Well . . . What is it, then?" Johnny asks with a shrug.

"It's . . ." I start, unable to finish the sentence at first, but soon the words come bubbling out, whether I want them to or not. "It's complicated . . . My stomach twists so hard, it hurts, and my mind just sorta goes blank. Sometimes I can't breathe right, or my legs feel like they'll collapse right out from under me . . . Does that make any sense?"

"Well, sure it does," Johnny smiles widely, something he doesn't do often enough. "It's called _love_, Pony. Ain't nothin' wrong with that."

I stare at him for a moment and revel in his sincere look. He's the first to accept me. I don't know why I'm surprised. We've been through so much together.

"You think so?" I ask quietly, swallowing the lump in my throat.

"Sure," Johnny shrugs. "You and Steve . . . Who knew?" He laughs slightly, lightening the mood, and I smile with him.

"Hey, Johnny? Do me a favor, okay?"

"Yea, Ponyboy. Anything." He squeezes my shoulder encouragingly.

"Don't . . ." I hesitate. "Don't tell Two-Bit or Dally about all this . . . I don't want them to know yet."

He nods in understanding.

"Thanks, Johnny. I don't know what I'd do without you."

0 o 0 o 0

Shit. Oh, shit. I'm fucked. I'm more fucked than I've ever been in my entire life.

I stand motionless a few houses down from my own. The lights are on, and I can see Soda pacing in the window. Darry's on the phone, and they both look real angry.

"Steve, just tell us where he is!"

I hear my oldest brother's scream from where I'm standing. They're blaming Steve. Of _course_ they are. Who else do they have to blame?

Slowly, I make my way towards the house, dreading what awaits. Last time I came home late, Darry hit me . . . but that was a long time ago, and we never really did talk about it much. I think about bringing it up sometimes, telling him that it wasn't his fault that I ran away that night, that I was just surprised and that nothing that happened after that night was his doing . . . But he can see it in my eyes whenever I think about bringing it up, and he is quick to avoid any confrontation. I wish I could avoid that confrontation tonight.

The squeak of the gate as it is opened causes both of them to turn towards the window and hurriedly exit the house.

"Ponyboy, where the _hell_ have you been?" Darry very nearly yells but restrains himself, aware of what time it is.

At first I say nothing. I stare at them both with hard, glaring eyes. I don't care what they think of me anymore. I'm tired of having to pretend.

"Where do you think I was?" I reply curtly, not with the respect I usually give my brothers. Respect is very important in _any_ greaser's life. It's not easily gained, but once you've got someone's respect, it doesn't just simply go away. Neither of my brothers is deserving at the moment, and for the time being, I think they've lost all sense of what we once had as a family.

"Damn it, kid brother, you are getting on my _last_ nerve," my eldest brother threatens angrily. "Get in the house." I start towards the door without another word, but Soda stops me, placing a hand on my arm and turning me so that I face him. I don't look him in the eye, and I can't tell whether it's because I'm angry or . . . afraid.

"Pony . . ." His voice is so . . . _sincere_ that it makes me look up at him, and I find that he has an almost hurt look in his eyes. "We aren't doing this because we want to. We just . . . don't want to see you get hurt. Steve isn't-"

"Steve isn't any of your concern," I interrupt him harshly, pulling away from his clutch. "And what the hell do _you_ know anyway? All that talk about love and how you wanted to marry Sandy. What'd you think was gonna happen, Soda? You and Sandy would live happily ever after? Life don't work that way. Look where it's got you. You're just some no account dropout working at a gas station and having to help Darry pay the God damn bills."

The words are barely out of my mouth as I feel the sharp sting across my jaw and my head snaps to one side. I don't turn back. I don't want to. I remember when Darry had hit me. It hadn't been as hard, and I had glanced back for only a mere second before running for the door, but I had seen the complete and utter shock in his eyes that night; his mistake flashing across his very face in a look of horror. Soda, however . . . I don't want to see Soda's eyes, because I already know what will be there. There will be no remorse, no apology, no surprise or shock. Darry had acted before he thought. Soda . . . He knows what he did, and he knows I deserved it. As do I.

"Shit, Soda! What the hell were you thinkin'?" Darry asks, astonishment written across his face. "Aw, man, that's gonna leave a bruise. Son of a bitch! The state's comin' next week! What're we gonna tell them?" He's in between me and Sodapop now, carefully taking my jaw and examining where I was hit with a wince. I don't so much as flinch, brushing his hand away and starting towards the door once again.

"Tell 'em the truth," I say monotonously. "Maybe they'll send me away to a family that gives a shit." I glance once more in my brothers' direction and see for a fleeting moment the frightened look that crosses Soda's face, that look of realization at what he may have just done . . . and I'm glad.

0 o 0 o 0

"Hey, kid, that's a tuff little patch you got there," Two-Bit takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning my head to better look at the deep purple bruise that had formed overnight. "Who'd you knock out?" I twist my head away, staring at Sodapop, who sits across from me at the breakfast table pushing his eggs around his plate.

"Why don't you ask Soda?" I shrug with uninterest, returning to my bowl of Cheerios. "He's the one that gave it to me." Two-Bit's smile, suddenly, disappears as he leans in close to me with a hard face.

"Don't be lyin' like that about your brothers, Ponyboy. That could get you and them into a lot of trouble," he says seriously. I look up and lean into his face as well.

"I ain't lyin'," I reply simply, mirroring his facial expression and staring him down. The bruise still stings slightly whenever I talk, but there isn't much swelling, thanks mostly to Darry. He had made me keep ice on it all night. I was so numb, I could barely feel half my face.

Two-Bit gives me one last skeptical look before turning to Soda, hoping to be told that this is all a misunderstanding. Soda, however, says nothing, continuing to break the yolk of his egg and slosh it onto his toast, making it soggy.

"Aw, Christ, Soda, what the hell made you-"

"I'm gonna be late for work," he says quickly, standing and throwing his plate into the sink hurriedly. It nearly cracks as it hits the dull metal, but he doesn't bother to glance back as he rushes out the door, shirt and shoes in his hands. Darry comes into the kitchen carrying a coffee mug in one hand and a section of the newspaper in the other.

He doesn't look up from his reading as he asks absently, "Soda walkin' to work today?"

"Guess so," I say quietly, gulping down what little milk remains in the bottom of my cereal bowl and placing it in the sink carefully on top of Soda's plate.

"Someone mind tellin' me what's goin' on, here?" Two-Bit demands impatiently. "What happened?"

"You boys are gonna be late for school if you don't get a move on," my oldest brother states quietly, setting his cup on the counter and folding the paper.

"Ain't we gonna wait for Steve?"

"C'mon, Two-Bit," I grumble with annoyance, grabbing my school bag from the couch and heading out the door. Today is going to be a long day.

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Well, Peeps, I hope you liked. It took me a while, and I hope you aren't too disappointed. Things might have to pan out a little slower than I expected, I s'pose. Oh well. I'll try to update soon and, hopefully, keep the story interesting. I think a little visit from the state is in order, don't you?


	6. Chapter Six

AN: Wow. Been a while, neh? My sincerest apologies, Kats and Kittens. I've been busy with school and . . . things . . . (like watching really bad SciFi movies and buying songs to my heart's content off of iTunes). So, I think I've kept you waiting long enough. Enjoy!

_Chapter Six:_

"Hey, Grease," an irritating voice slurs behind me. I ignore it, concentrating on the front of the classroom. The bell has not even rung yet, and already I'm being tortured by Socs. "Greeeaaaser." He taunts, letting out a high-pitched, hyena-like laugh, which is followed by a few sniggers from behind him. Other Socs, I'm guessing.

"Hey, Buddy, lay off," Two-Bit says warningly from my right. That laugh again. I'm beginning to really hate that laugh.

"Hey, Grease," he taunts again, this time laying a hand on my shoulder. "Heard you and Randle were goin' at it at the drive-in this weekend."

"I said lay off!" Two-Bit snatches the Soc's hand from my shoulder and slams it onto the boy's desk. "Leave him alone."

"Hey, man, chill," the Soc smiles visciously. "I only wanna know if the kid's taken or on the market." He flicks the back of my ear, and I jump from my seat, hurrying for the door and out into the hallway. Before I leave, I hear the distinct sound of someone's nose crunching and the Soc's wails as Two-Bit runs after me.

"Ponyboy," he tries to stop me, placing a hand on my shoulder, but I shrug it off, a sour look on my face as I tell him to leave me alone. "C'mon, Pony. Don't be like that."

"Two-Bit, just lay off, would ya?" I demand over my shoulder, turning to barely stop in time as someone appears before me. I almost do not want to look up, recognizing the shirt immediately, but my eyes slowly scan towards the figure's face, and I find Steve's concerned gaze staring into my own.

"Pony?" He asks, raising his hand to gently wipe a stray tear from my cheek with his thumb, cupping my jaw in his calloused palm. I cannot help but throw myself at him, wrapping my arms tightly around his thin torso and burying my face in his chest as more tears threaten to leak from my eyes. He does not hesitate in encompassing me completely, giving me the satisfaction of being surrounded by warmth. His chin rests on the top of my head as he makes soothing noises, rubbing my back and easing my stress.

"What happened?" He says it quietly, and I'm not sure whether the question is directed towards myself or the shocked figure standing not three feet from us, but I'm grateful when Two-Bit decides to answer.

"Some dumbass Soc in class," he replies dazedly, slowly glancing from my shaking form to Steve's stern face and back again. "Don't worry, I took care of it . . . You guys need a minute alone or somethin'?"

"A Soc gave you that?" Steve asks harshly, lifting my face once again to stare at the purple patch on my cheek. He looks ready to pounce, his eyes firey and his lips drawn into a thin line. I avert my gaze, and Two-Bit shifts his weight uncomfortably. "What? . . . What's wrong?"

"Wasn't . . . Wasn't a Soc that hit 'im," Two-Bit replies when I say nothing. Immediately, Steve's complexion pales as he probably recalls the phone call from last night . . . The one I had come upon when Darry was screaming into the receiver.

_"Steve, just tell us where he is!"_

My brother's angry words send a shudder up my spine, and Steve clutches me tighter.

"Ponyboy, did . . . did Darry-"

"No," I interrupt, shaking my head. Darry learned his lesson that night Johnny and I had disappeared. The bear hug he had given me in the hospital was the last rough hand he ever placed on me. Ever since then, he's been real gentle, almost like he thinks I'll break or something. Not that I mind, but I miss the rough-housing, the wrestling moves he'd teach me.

"No," I repeat, and his eyes grow angry again. "It . . . It was an accident . . . He didn't mean to."

Steve's hand is, suddenly, on my arm, and he's pulling me towards the front doors, down the concrete stairs, through the parking lot and towards his car. I continue to try and convince him that Soda hadn't done it on purpose, but my pleas fall on deaf ears. This morning, I would have given _anything_ to have Steve at my side. Now I just hope he doesn't kill anyone . . . or himself.

The drive to the gas station is fast, and it makes my head spin to the point of nausea. Steve slams on the brakes, not bothering to actually park the car, and jumps out. He yanks my arm hard, and I find myself being dragged toward the garage, where Soda spends most of his time. And speaking of Soda . . .

I avert my gaze as he comes out of the building, wiping his hands on a dirty towel and looking curious about all the noise.

"Pony?" He asks softly, a hint of guilt in his voice. He probably notices that the bruise is getting darker. Damn him for having such hard fists anyway. It's his own fault.

And then we're right in front of him, and Steve's yelling about something, but my ears are pounding so bad I can't hear a thing. He just keeps pointing at my face and screaming into Soda's. Normally, Soda would fight back, and he'd be yelling too, but he's too busy staring at me to really notice Steve. His lips are tightened into a thin, grim line, and his eyes are sad -- sadder than I have ever seen them.

I realize, suddenly, that I've made a huge mistake. Soda hasn't been acting out against Steve and me because he's mad. It's because he thinks he's losing the only two people in the world that truly understand him. Sure, Darry and the others know him as well as anyone on the block does. But Steve and I are the only ones that really know _who_ he is. Steve's been his best friend since daycare ("daycare," of course, being our backyard), and I've shared a room with him my whole life. Steve and I know things that not even our parents were aware of. With us, Soda always had a purpose. Our constant banter made him the buffer between us, a "referee," even. But now that we're actually getting along, actually in _love_, Soda doesn't have a purpose . . . or at least he thinks he doesn't. I guess losing Sandy made him more dependent on us. So what happens when he thinks he's lost us too?

"God, Soda, I'm so sorry," I whisper. His eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline as he hears my soft apology, but Steve keeps yelling, having not heard me. And then his fist is pulling back, and my eyes widen. I quickly step between him and my brother in hopes that he won't hit him, but Steve realizes too late that I've slipped in between them. His fist connects with my abdomen, and everything sort of slows down.

Spit flies from my lips, all the air in my lungs forced out in a grunt. My fingers tighten around Steve's wrist as I double over, my knees weak and shaking as I fall to the cement. Steve and Soda are calling my name, asking me if I'm all right, but my only thought is on the throbbing in my stomach that is slowly drifting up into my chest and making it hard for me to breathe. I shudder with every weezing breath, and Steve carefully lays me on my back, cradling my head in his lap. His face is panic-stricken, his eyes glazing with tears, and I find it funny that I don't seem to be crying myself.

"S'okay, Steve," I gurgle as something bitter begins to well in the back of my throat. I cough, and a red liquid stains my shirt and splatters across Steve's face.

"Shit! Soda, go call 911!" Steve is shouting, I'm sure, but his voice is slowly fading. Soda's face leaves my line of vision as he, undoubtedly, heads towards the garage's only telephone.

"Excuse me, is everything all right?"

I don't recognize the voice or the face as the woman leans over me, Steve looking up at her fleetingly.

"Mind your own damn business, lady," he spits angrily. "We've got it under control."

"Is . . . Is this Ponyboy Curtis?" The woman asks hesitantly, as if trying to recognize my face.

"What of it?" Steve demands. He looks at her suspiciously, and my eyebrows draw together -- in pain as well as confusion.

"I'm Amanda Spenster. I'm his social worker."

Fuck.

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Well, well. A twist to our plot. And it seems I may be able to finish this story sooner than I expected. I have a few ideas, but I'm always open to yours. Thanks for being so patient, Kats and Kittens. I promise to try and update sooner than last time ... So sorry. /Wince/ And apologies that this chapter is so short. I keep you waiting, and this is what you get? No worries, though. Hope you'll stick with me til the end!


	7. Chapter Seven

AN: Good day, Kats and Kittens. Yes, I know, it's been quite a while. And I apologize immensely. I just finished my other _Outsiders_ fic, so I decided I should probably work on this one while my writers block fizzles out on my _Scrubs_ fics. So, I figure I've let you wait long enough. I'll let you all get to it.

Thank you so much for sticking with me through this whole ordeal, and I hope you all aren't disappointed with another short chapter, but if I get some things done this week, I may be able to squeeze out another chapter real soon. Enjoy!

_Chapter Seven:_

"S-Social worker?" I squint up at the lady and swallow hard, almost gagging on the taste of blood and bile. Steve strokes my hair, shaking his head and mouthing something that I can't understand. "Wh-What? Steve . . . Steve I can't . . ."

My vision starts to go funny. First it blurs, then it sort of fizzles, like those antacids Darry uses sometimes when his heartburn acts up. I can almost see the bubbles swimming around me, and I imagine that I'm somewhere far away, like the ocean. I'd like to see the ocean someday. People say it stretches on forever and ever. The biggest thing in the world. They say we're just a speck compared to it. And I wouldn't mind being a speck, not if it meant I could be away from here.

A darkness begins to close in on my eyes. I think this is what they call _tunnel vision_ or something. Weird. I'm light-headed, and I start to feel dizzy. All I can see is the sky now, gray and overbearing with clouds that threaten to spill at any moment.

"Steve?" I whisper before everything goes black.

0 o 0 o 0

_One Week Later:_

"And that bruise around your eye? Where did you get that?"

The social worker is annoying. She has frizzy red hair and bright pink, coke-bottle glasses that are too big for her face and that magnify her eyes tenfold. She keeps pushing them up with one finger, crinkling her nose so that they slip down again every few seconds. There's bright red lipstick smothering her lips and the front of her teeth. She looks like she just made out with a clown. Her nose is pointed and turned up slightly, a prudish look that I've seen on most Socs. Her skirt is plaid, reaching down to her bulging ankles, which are covered by tight, white socks. Her shoes are plain penny loafers, the pennies long gone -- probably stolen by one of her charges at some point in time. Her blouse is beige, the kind with the wafty collar spilling down the front in a sort of v-neck.

She sits across from my hospital bed in a plastic chair, her legs crossed as she leans forward slightly to better study me. A pad of paper rests against her knee, a pen poised just above it. The first two pages are already filled with notes, the third dangerously close. I'm getting tired of all these questions, and I don't like the look she keeps giving me -- like she accepts the answer but doesn't quite believe it. Though I don't see why she should. I've been lying to her from the start.

I know I said some horrible things to Soda and Darry that night Soda popped me a good one. But I don't really want to be taken away. I wouldn't let them. I'd kill myself first, I think.

"Gym class," I say. It'd be a lot smoother-sounding and more convincing if my throat wasn't so sore from the ventilator tube that'd been in my throat for five days. I only woke up two days ago. Internal injuries, apparently, take a while to recover from. A punctured lung from a broken rib and massive hemorhaging in my abdominal area. I didn't understand half the things the doctor said to me, but I'm sure it all means a lot of money on the hospital bill we're going to be getting. Maybe I should find a job . . . "Dodgeball. Some jerk threw the ball at my face. He told the coach it was an accident, but-"

"Ponyboy, I don't know why you keep lying to me, but it isn't helping your case any," Miss Spenster interrupts, and I grind my teeth. I wish Darry and Soda were allowed to be here. But _she_ insisted that she needed to talk to me alone. And _of course_ I've been lying to her. There's no way I'm going to be put in a boys home. 'Cause if _I_ am, then they'd start investigating Soda, and then Darry wouldn't have anyone. And I'll be damned if I'm gonna leave Darry on his own.

"I ain't lyin'," I reply indignantly, sniffing and coughing as my throat itches. My whole chest flares with pain, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from whimpering. I don't want her to know how much I hurt. It might not help Steve's case. And speaking of Steve . . .

"You know that Mister Randle was taken into custody?" Miss Spenster asks, scanning over her notes and pushing her glasses up her nose again. I want to slap those stupid glasses off her stupid, fat face.

"Yea," I force out through clenched teeth. "My brothers told me."

"And you know that I'm obligated to suggest that you press charges," she continues without missing a beat.

I sit forward slightly, wincing as the lines running from the surrounding machines tug on my skin. "Well, thanks, but no thanks, lady. I don't wanna press charges against him."

"Assault is a serious crime, Ponyboy. He must take responsibility for his actions. I've already filed a suit for you and-"

"You did _what_?!" I demand angrily, forcing my legs over the side of the bed. Miss Spenster stands quickly from her chair, dropping the pad of paper and the pen with a look of worry on her face.

"Ponyboy! Please, don't-"

"D-Don't call me that!" I wheeze, trying to catch my breath as the stitches in my lungs pull mercilessly on the soft, injured tissue. "Just . . . Just get . . . _Get out_!" The last two words are more of a sob than anything as the bare soles of my feet touch the cold, tiled floor. My IV line is ripped from my skin, and I grasp desperately at the metal carrier, taking it with me as I topple to the ground.

The social worker runs towards the bed, shoving her thumb over the emergency call button and pressing it with excess force.

"Help!" She screeches as if her _own_ life is on the line . . . and I suppose in a way that it is. No charge, no job, right? "Someone help! Please! I need help!"

The first two people through the door are my brothers, and I have never been so happy to see them in my whole life. I reach for them with my right hand, my left slipping out from under me on leaked IV fluid. I clench my eyes shut, awaiting the feeling of the tiles smacking against my chin, but it never comes. Soda has me in his arms instantly, cradled close and safe. I grab him around the middle and shove my face into his chest, wishing upon nonexistent hopes that this is all just a dream and that I'll wake in his arms in our room.

I don't know when the tears start, but by the time I realize it, I'm sobbing hysterically, so hard that my body heaves with each cry.

"Pony! Shh, baby, it's okay! I've got you! You're all right!" Soda tries to be gentle with his words, but he can't quite reach me through the noise. "Honey, what's going on? What happened?"

"Miss Spenster, is there something you'd like to tell us?" Darry demands accusingly from above Soda and me. She sputters wordlessly, looking back and forth between him and me and the doctors hovering around us trying to get through.

"She wants to take me away!" I wail into my brother's shirt. "She wants me in some home! She wants to take me away! Don't let her! Don't let her, Darry! I don't want to go! I don't want to leave!" Soda strokes my hair, making soothing noises and resting his cheek against the top of my head. "And sh-she's . . . b-blaming Steve! She says I'm gonna have to go to court! I-I've already got a s-suit against him!"

"What?" Darry and Soda exclaim at the same time.

"Mister Curtis," the woman addresses Darry, "I think it would be in the best interest of Ponyboy and _everyone_ if that _boy_ was put away."

"'Best interest'?" Darry asks incredulously. "I'm sorry, Miss Spenster, but I really don't think that was your call to make. We had no intention of filing _any_ sort of suit against Steve. It was an accident. This _whole thing_ was just a big misunderstanding."

"Nonetheless, this_ 'misunderstanding'_ has landed your brother in the hospital and has not put a very good report in for social services," Miss Spenster counters defensively, and I can imagine her eyes bugging out, making them look huge behind her glasses. "And I'm sorry to say that I will be requesting that Ponyboy be put into foster care."

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard for any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Well, what do you think? Another cliffie, I know. I'm a horrible, horrible person. But I haven't completely forgotten about this fic yet, so there's still hope that I might finish it sometime before the end of the year. Here's hoping, Kats and Kittens. Wish my luck. :)

Later, Gators! Catch you on the flip side.


	8. Chapter Eight

AN: Yes, another short chapter (despite requests). I am so sorry, Kats and Kittens. This is all I can shell out at the moment. College has a way of wearing one down quite a bit. But I certainly hope you enjoy it anyway. I promise, the next chapter will be longer. Really, I do!

_Chapter Eight:_

Steve's trial is next week. Mine is a few days before. It's strange, thinking I might not be around to see Steve's trial, knowing that he won't be around to see mine. That damn woman, Miss Spenster, is going to speak at them both. She'll testify against Steve, say she witnessed the beating he gave me. And she'll tell the judge why my brother is incapable of taking care of me and Soda. She'll tell him to take us away from Darry and to stick us in some home where we can be taken care of "properly."

I really wish she'd get hit by a bus.

"Ponyboy, everything's going to be fine," Soda says gently, pulling me from my thoughts. I turn to him from my position in the hospital bed and stare at him with furrowed eyebrows and pouting lips. He winces, averting his gaze from the bruise around my eye. It isn't so bad anymore. Not as purple as it used to be, anyway. Mostly just an ugly brown and yellow color. And it don't hurt none.

"She'll win," I tell him absently, not really meaning to say the words out loud but backing them up as they leave my lips. "She'll take us away from Darry. She'll send Steve away to jail. She'll win, and she'll do it with a big, fat smile on her face."

"Don't think like that, Pony," my brother sighs, shaking his head and closing his eyes. "She's . . . She's just doing what she thinks is right. But the judge will figure it out. He'll know you and I are better off with Darry, and Steve . . . He'll be fine. It was an accident, and the judge'll see that too. No one's going anywhere."

My gaze falls back to the hospital-issue blanket covering my lean form. I've lost too much weight. Coach'll never let me run this season.

"Hey, now, what's with these sad faces, huh?"

Soda and I turn, finding Two-Bit leaning in the doorway, a wide smile slicked across his lips like he's got a dirty little secret. And he always does. He pushes off the door frame and struts into the room, whistling as he looks around.

"Nice digs, kid," he laughs. Soda and I can tell it's forced, but we don't say anything, smiling back as best we can.

"Hey, Two-Bit, what'cha been up to?" I ask, sitting up a little more in the bed. Soda looks a little worried at my shifting, but I ignore it.

"Oh, you know. This and that," the older boy smirks, throwing a Mickey Mouse key chain onto the blanket near my hands. "Swiped you something from the gift shop." He winks.

"Yea, but these were bought and paid for," someone says from the door, and we all look back to find Johnny and Dally, a vase of assorted flowers clutched tightly in the younger boy's hands.

"Wow." My smile grows wider, stretched so thin I think my lips might split open. "Thanks, Johnny!" Dally grabs the vase from Johnny's hands and walks into the room, placing them on the table next to my bed roughly. A smoldering cigarette hangs languidly from his lips, the smoke curling up towards the ceiling.

"Wasn't just the twerp that pitched in," he mutters, waggling his eyebrows at me, and I smile shyly. It isn't everyday that Dally does something for someone else.

"You too, Dal. Thanks."

"No problem," he shrugs, finding another chair and plopping down into it. "You, uh, got any hot nurses?" I shrug, blushing a bit.

"Are you kiddin'?" Soda laughs. "He's got them gals swoonin' over him day and night. They pop in just to say hello!"

"Damn, Pony, you got it real good in here," Two-Bit crows. "I'd sure like a whole lot a women fussin' over me like that. Shoot!"

"Yea, Two-Bit, you'd feel right at home, wouldn't you?" Johnny teases, sidling up next to him, and the older put his arm around his shoulders before shifting him into a headlock and rubbing his knuckles against the top of his head. "Hey! Two-Bit, lay off, would ya?" The banter continues for a while, and I sit quietly, watching my friends try to act normal.

But it all comes crashing down in an instant as I say, "I sure wish Steve was here."

They all stop what they're doing, the smiles falling from their faces as they turn to look at me. There's an awkward silence, and I almost wish I hadn't mentioned it when Johnny finally speaks up.

"Me too, Pony."

"Yea."

"Sure do."

The rest of them agree, Dally with only a curt nod of his head. I sigh and rest back against my pillows some, closing my eyes for a moment as the tears hiding behind them fight their way to the surface.

"It shouldn't . . . It shouldn't be like this," I say, my voice husky. A lump forms in my throat, and I try to swallow it, but it stubbornly stays put, causing the tears to finally push forward and stream down my face. "We shouldn't have to go to a home that isn't ours. And Steve shouldn't b-be . . ." I cover my face with my hands, trying to hold the sobs in, but they find their way out. Soda stands, curling his arms around me, and I bury myself in his chest, clutching his shirt between my tear-stained fingers.

0 o 0 o 0

_Five Days Later:_

"Soda, you seen my tie? I coulda sworn . . ." Darry's voice dwindles off into muffled tones as he disappears into his closet, digging through the wrinkled clothes at the bottom. Soda walks in, Darry's tie in hand, and gives it to him.

"It was on the ironing board," he comments dryly, his face solemn and devoid of any real emotion.

I watch them both from Darry's bed, my legs crossed, my elbows resting on my knees, and my chin in my left hand. They seem more nervous than I am. I wish they wouldn't be. It makes my stomach hurt just thinking about this stupid trial.

"Pony, don't sit like that. You'll wrinkle your pants," Soda chides softly, holding his hand out to help me off the bed. I sigh and take it, allowing him to pull me to my feet. He messes with my shirt a bit, tugging at it, and straightens my collar a few too many times. I finally have to swat his hands away.

"My shirt's fine, Soda," I say quietly. No one's really being all that loud this morning. In fact, no one's really been all that loud since last night. All week, we've been acting like things are normal, trying to keep our minds off the trial and what might happen if Miss Spenster gets her way. But last night, it hit us. Right in the middle of dinner, Darry dropped his fork and started crying and saying things like "What am I gonna do without you guys?" and "Why did this have to happen to us?"

It's true, I guess. There are worse families out there that kids should probably be taken away from. But ours isn't one of them.

When we're all ready to go, we sit in the living room, waiting until it's time to leave. The televison's on, but none of us are watching it. We're staring at the clock, watching the seconds tick away. These could be our last seconds sitting together in this living room, our last seconds as a family. I shake the thought from my mind, trying to think about what the trial will be like. Will there be a jury? A dozen people sitting and staring at me while I try to convince them why I should stay with my brothers?

"I won't be able to lie," I comment thoughtfully, making them both turn to me. "I'll have to tell them who hit me." A worried look takes my face as I turn to Soda. "I don't want to. I don't want to give them a reason to take me away."

Soda links his hand with mine and offers a shaky smile. "You gotta tell the truth, Ponyboy. You can't lie against the bible."

Darry nods in agreement. "Just tell the truth, little buddy. Can't nobody get hurt if you just tell the truth."

It's time to leave. My stomach turns, making me nauseous, as we file out the door and into Darry's truck. I sit in the middle, my designated spot whenever we all go out together, and revel in their closeness. Could this be my last ride between the two of them? I lean my head on Darry's shoulder, interlocking my fingers with Soda's. The ride is quiet and short-lived. Too soon, we're at the courthouse, walking up the steps and into the building that will seal our fate as a family.

I stare gloomily up at the stone structure and the gray clouds hanging overhead. It's not cold, but it's chilly enough that the courtroom won't be hot as all hell. At least there's that. The building seems to look down at me, glaring into my wide, frightened eyes, and I wish I could hide behind Darry, squeeze my eyes shut and wish it was all a dream. But I swallow and stand tall. I won't let this place feel my fear.

My feet get heavier and heavier as we approach the front doors, and I take deep breaths to keep myself from hyperventilating. This is it. This is where everything we've been through comes to terms. This is where we will stand. This is where we will fall. And as Darry opens the door and ushers me through to the darkness within, a feeling of dread bubbles in the pit of my stomach.

_We'll never get out of here._

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard for any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

It just seemed right to end it this way. Sorry! I know, I'm a horrible person, what with all my cliffies. Until next time, Kats and Kittens. Later, Gators! Catch you on the flip side. :)


	9. Chapter Nine

AN: Wow! You guys are amazing. I mean truly amazing! I can't believe the feedback I am getting on this fic. And I'm so amazed, that I'm going to personally review to all those who reviewed the last chapter. :)

itsasledgehammer - Oh no! Don't fall off of your seat! That would be bad . . . and I would feel horrible for having been the cause of injury . . . Here's the next chapter to put you back!

edwards other bella - I'm so sorry this update isn't sooner! And I'm so sorry for leaving that cliffie in the last chapter. I know, I is a horrrrrrible person. Please accept my apologies.

free2hate - I'm so sorry I made you want to bawl. And I think that even I wanted to kill that social worker . . . What a bee-yotch!

RatsRule - I couldn't decide whether I wanted it to be Darry or Soda who cried at the dinner table, but in the end I thought I'd go with Darry, 'cause he's the big, macho type, and he doesn't show enough emotion. He kind of bottles it up, so I thought it was time the dams burst, you know? Poor Darry, though. :(

Hi - Thanks so much for your review! I'm so glad you could take time out of a busy college schedule to read and comment. :) I know how it is. Crazy, crazy, crazy. This chapter is a little shorter than the last one, so I'm really sorry for that. But I've had an insane amount of papers and tests and whatnot going on this month. Jeesh! You'd think they'd cut us a break once in a while, huh?

info62 - Steve was arrested! Poor Steve! But he's in this chapter, so no worries. :) And hopefully he'll be in upcoming chapters. /crosses fingers/

WolfieDRW - I'm so sorry I didn't get to update as soon as you wanted me to. But here it is! The next chapter! My goodness, this thing just keeps moving right along, doesn't it? I don't even think I see a clear ending in sight yet . . . Hope you enjoy this next one!

Thanks so much for all your support, peeps! I love you all very, very much. :) Now, on with the show . . . chapter . . . fic . . . Yea! Just read it!

Chapter Nine:

I can barely believe my eyes as we near the courtroom doors. My heart leaps into my throat, and I want to scream with joy and horror both at the same time. The gang is all there. Miss Spenster is there, too, and beside her is someone I hadn't been expecting.

"Steve!" I cry and break away from Soda's hold around my shoulders. Steve forces a smile, rubbing his hands on his jeans nervously before I ram into him, nearly knocking us both over. His long arms hold me tightly to his chest, and he rests his cheek against my hair. I can't help the tears that fall from my eyes, soaking his thin shirt.

"Hey, Pony," he sighs softly, and I feel his breath rustle through my grease-free locks. "You hangin' in there?"

I swallow hard and reluctantly let him pull me away so he can better look at me. He looks exhausted. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his smile is strained. I don't think I've ever seen him this way. Steve is strong. He doesn't let anything get to him . . . but he looks so sad.

I can see Miss Spenster behind him, and she's got a frown on her face, making her double chin stand out even more than usual. Her frizzy hair is pulled back today, but stray strands fizzle from her scalp here and there. She's wearing too much makeup again. It's packed on like the world's running out of it.

"What're you doing here? I thought . . . Didn't they arrest you?" I ask in a rush, and Steve's smile widens, but his eyes only shine with unshed tears.

"Miss Spenster dropped the charges," he replies, and I can't understand why he looks so defeated . . . so _heartbroken_. Isn't that good news? That means that if everything goes okay in court, things will go back to normal. Right? I glance behind him again, and the social worker has a satisfied, smug look on her face. "But . . ."

_Oh no_. My stomach sinks, and I clench my jaw. Beginning to shake my head. I don't want to hear what he has to say. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to-

"I can't see you anymore, Ponyboy," Steve whispers, his eyebrows rising and a look of sympathy taking his face.

I shake my head. "I don't . . . What do you . . ."

"I mean, I told her . . . about us," he says shakily, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "She's agreed to drop the charges if . . . if I agree to stay away from you."

"Stay away?" I don't understand. I glare at her ugly, triumphant face. How can she do that? Steve and I . . . We've seen each other everyday for practically our whole lives. How can she just take that away? She can't . . . Can she? That isn't fair. That isn't right. That-

"She's going to file a restraining order," Steve continues, but I can barely hear him. Everything seems so far away. "I . . . I won't be able to see you anymore. And you won't be able to come see me. That's part of the deal."

"But . . ."

"And she said she'll even get this trial cancelled. You won't need to go to court. You can stay with your brothers," he explains, and I cringe at the forced cheerfulness in his tone. "Everything will go back to normal, Pony . . . Things will be better this way. You'll see."

"No," I say, shaking my head and tightening my grip on him. I look over his shoulder at the devil-woman pleadingly. She doesn't waver in the least. Bitch! "No, I don't want you to leave. I don't want to never see you again."

"Ponyboy, everything will be just fine," Miss Spenster says matter-of-factly, like she knows everything.

She doesn't. She doesn't realize what she's doing. I won't live without Steve. I won't! She can't take him away. I'll . . . I'll run away. _We'll_ run away. Me and Steve. Soda and Darry can come too, if they want. We don't need anyone else. We don't . . .

Her fat, pink fingers curl around Steve's shoulder, and she tugs harshly. He winces and offers me one more small smile.

"Pony, you need your brothers more than you need me. This is the way it's got to be, okay? Just . . . Just let it be."

He's slipping from my fingers. He's walking away. Why can't I move? Why aren't I going after him? Why aren't I calling out to him to stay, _please_ stay, and never leave?

Why did it get so cold all of a sudden?

0 o _Two Weeks Later_ o 0

"Ponyboy?"

"Uh-huh?"

"You all right?"

"Yea."

"You sure? You've been sittin' there for a while."

"I'm fine, Darry."

"Is that your homework?"

"Yea."

The paper beneath my pencil is carefully slid away, and I hear my older brother sigh.

"Pony, you've been sittin' at this table for near an hour, and you've barely got a sentence on this paper."

"Sorry, Darry." I don't even recognize my own voice anymore. I don't recognize_anything_ about myself anymore.

I haven't been getting sleep lately. Sometimes I'll drop off in the middle of class and wake up to an empty classroom and a concerned-looking teacher. I can't eat anything either. It all tastes funny. Plain. And I just don't get hungry.

Last week Steve and his dad packed up and moved across the state. The social services explained that it would be better for me and Steve if we weren't in such a close vicinity of one another. I don't get to meet him at school anymore for lunch or see him at the gas station on the way home from the library or have him drop by unexpectedly for chocolate cake and beer.

I don't get to see him anymore.

"Pony?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Honey, maybe you should go lay down for a while, okay?" Darry's hand is cold against my forehead, and I shiver, nodding and standing on shaking legs. I pass Soda in the living room, and he rubs my arm as I walk by, sharing a look with Darry that they think I can't see.

Our room is dark. I don't bother changing or even turning down the blanket. I just plop down on the bed and lay on my back, staring at the ceiling. I can hear my brothers' muffled voices echoing behind the door. I think they might be arguing. Probably about my diminishing grades. Or my lack of appetite. Or my nearly nonexistent sleeping habits. I don't really care. I drift off to the noise, feeling like I am sinking deeper and deeper into an ocean of waves that I can't break the surface of.

0 o 0 o 0

In my dreams, Steve and I are sitting on a beach. We talk and laugh and have a beer together. Soda and Darry play football against Two-Bit and Dally, and Johnny tries his best to build a sandcastle, but it keeps getting knocked over by the waves. Steve leans in to kiss me, and I close my eyes, wrapping my arms around his neck as our lips meet. Everything is perfect.

And then Steve is, suddenly, yanked from my grasp. My eyes open to find dark storm clouds hanging overhead and the ocean weaving and crashing violently. Steve is on the ground, clawing at the sand as a big, pink tentacle drags him towards the water. A squid appears in the waves -- a squid with ugly, fat lips and red frizzy hair. Steve calls my name, and I try to run towards him, but my feet sink into the sand, and soon I'm covered up to my knees.

I look up desperately, watching as Steve disappears beneath the waves, the squid pulling him deep beneath the ocean where I can't get to him. I call for help, but everyone has disappeared. I'm all alone. I'm trapped, and I can't get to Steve.

0 o 0 o 0

When I wake, I'm screaming and crying and shaking in Soda's arms. He's trying to calm me down, rub my back and make soothing noises, but I can't stop. I can't because the dream is real. Steve isn't coming back.

I am alone, trapped here forever.

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard for any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Oh noes! Poor Pony! I almost want to write another chapter right away just so I can see what happens! Oh dears, how will things play out after this?


	10. Chapter Ten

AN: Well, hello again! Wow, how long has it been? Sorry to leave you guys hanging like that. Jeez, I feel terrible. Well, I won't talk much. I have to go get ready for work. Seven-hour shifts are nooo fun, Peeps. But please enjoy this next chapter!

_Chapter Ten:_

Johnny and I board the bus and show our tickets to the driver, rain water pooling around our feet. The driver takes a quick look then nods curtly, ushering us along. There's a long line outside, and I'm sure he just wants to get going. Bus drivers are like that, I think – impatient to get people to where they're supposed to be so that they can get _themselves_ to where they're supposed to be.

We pick seats in the back, making ourselves as unnoticeable as possible.

"I still don't know about this, Ponyboy," Johnny whispers, looking around nervously and swallowing hard. "Are you sure we should be leaving without telling Darry and Soda?"

"Darry and Soda don't need to know," I say harshly, glaring at him. "Besides, they'll find out soon enough. Darry called me in sick to school, so they'll notice something's up when I'm not there when they get home."

"But they'll be awful worried."

"I left 'em a note. If they want to come after me, then let 'em. But I ain't gonna just sit here and let that lady take Steve away from me. No way, no how." I turn towards the bus window and settle into my seat further. "This is all my fault, Johnny. If I hadn't . . . Steve's life wouldn't be screwed up the way it is. I'm gonna fix this."

Johnny doesn't say anything else, only curls into the seat and wraps his arms around his legs.

0 o _Several Hours Later_ o 0

"Johnny. Hey, Johnny! Wake up! We're here."

"Huh?" Johnny tiredly lifts his head off my shoulder and yawns. "Ah-rea-y?"

"Yea," I say, standing and nearly shoving him into the aisle. "C'mon, we're gonna miss our stop." We grab our bags from the overhead compartment and quickly make our way off the bus. As our feet hit the sidewalk outside, we both realize something:

Neither of us knows where Steve lives.

I sigh resignedly. "Let's go, Johnny. We gotta find a phonebook." Johnny says nothing, hefting his pack further onto his shoulder and digging into his jacket pocket for a cigarette and a lighter.

0 o 0 o 0

It takes us a while to find a payphone, which surprises me. This town is even smaller than ours. When we do finally find a phonebook, it's so torn up and faded we can barely read it. We doubt Steve and his dad will be in anything so old, seeing as they're pretty new to town.

"So now what?" Johnny asks, taking a long drag on the cigarette between his lips. It's his third since we stepped off the bus. God, I want one so bad, but every time I go to ask Johnny for one, the words stick to the back of my throat.

Track is probably the one thing I have going for me, and not being able to run because of one cigarette too many just makes me want a cigarette even more.

I shrug and lean against the side of the booth. "I don't know."

"Pony . . . we tried, right?" Johnny consoles, shuffling his feet some against the sidewalk. "I mean . . . I think it'd be best to head back before your brothers find out."

"We're already here," I argue, grinding my teeth and looking around almost desperately. "Someone's gotta know them." A man in a cowboy hat walks by, shooting us a strange look. Something tells me these people aren't too used to strangers. "'Scuse me!" I run to catch up with him. "Hi, um, sorry to bother you." He quickens his pace, but that doesn't shake me. "Listen, we're just trying to find someone who moved here recently. The Randles? Do you-"

He stops so suddenly I almost run right into him. I barely have time to apologize before he whips around, his red, puffy eyes centered on me with more than just a little malice.

"Ain't nobody 'round here with a name like that, so ya'll just pick up and go back to where ever it is you came from."

Johnny and I watch as he turns sharply again, continuing the way he had been going.

"What was _that_ all about?" Johnny asks in bewilderment, his cigarette hanging limply between his lips. "Ponyboy, are you sure this is the right town?"

"Positive," I mumble through the haze clouding my mind. "Took me over a week to find them. They didn't change their names or anything."

"Then why-"

"_I don't know, Johnny_!" I snap, immediately regretting it. I sigh and string my fingers through my hair.

Steve once told me he'd like to see my hair without grease. I'd laughed, saying he was crazy. But I'd washed it out, and he'd liked it a lot. I haven't worn grease since then. It reminds me of Dally's hair, all wild and feathery.

"Sorry," I say sullenly, glancing around the small town again. I find a couple of kids staring at us from an alleyway. "Hey! You kids!" They start up, their eyes widening before they bolt off down the street. "Wait a minute! We just want to ask you something!"

Johnny and I start after them at a dead run. Johnny lags behind a bit, but I catch up to them no problem, glad I had decided not to smoke earlier. I grab the hood of one of the kid's jackets and pull him onto the pavement. The other one comes to a slow stop a few yards ahead of us, the look on his face saying he's wondering whether to keep running or go back for his friend.

"Listen," I say slowly, carefully, one hand still gripping the boy's jacket, the other raised towards the other boy, "we're just looking for somebody. We ain't gonna hurt you. Just . . . Can you help us out?"

"Please?" Johnny adds softly, wheezing slightly as his chest heaves from the exertion.

The boys exchange a wary look before nodding reluctantly. I help the boy up but don't let go of his jacket. I know how boys think.

"Ease up, mister," the kid in my grasp says angrily. He's shorter and a little fatter than his friend, and there is a red scratch on his cheek from where he must have hit the sidewalk.

"Either of you know where the Randles live?" I ask, ignoring him. Again, they give each other a look, and my stomach twists anxiously.

"Yea," the taller one admits quietly, sticking his hands in his pockets and starting towards us cautiously. "They're just near the edge of town."

"Take us," I demand.

0 o 0 o 0

I can't believe it. This isn't happening. This can't possibly be Steve's place.

It's . . . It's . . .

"Holy shit," Johnny breathes, his eyes wide as he stares in a dazed stupor at the home that looks like it belongs in _Condemned Weekly_.

The place is a wreck.

Broken bottles, beer cans, and trash litter the dead, brown lawn. All the windows are smashed and boarded up, and the screen door looks like it's just about to fall off its hinges. And nearly every inch of the house is covered in graffiti. Words like "faggot" and "child molester" stand out starkly, and my gut clenches painfully.

"'Child molester'?" Johnny voices softly, looking nauseous.

"Yea," one of the kids says matter-of-factly. "That guy, Steve? We heard all about him when him and his dad moved here. Some nerve, huh?"

"Yea, but we took care of that," the other laughs, looking back to us. The laugh dies in his throat as he catches sight of the glare I'm giving them.

"Who told you that? Who said that about him?" I practically yell, my hands balled into fists at my sides.

"Some lady," the fat one shrugs. "She came with 'em. Told the sheriff she was from social services and had them registered as, um . . ." He turns to the other one. "What was it again?"

"'Sexual offenders,'" his friend says, rolling his eyes at the other boy's stupidity. "Word got 'round that he raped some kid up in Tulsa."

"Steve had a job at the auto repair place for a while. Manager said he was the best thing to ever happen to that place . . . And then people started finding out about him, started wrecking up the place. Boss had to fire him just to keep his place in one piece."

"His dad ain't been able to get a job neither," the other chimes in again. "No one'll hire him. Steve don't even go to school anymore."

I swallow. "Wh-What lady? What lady from the social services?"

"Dunno her name," the taller of the two shrugs. "But she had the reddest hair I ever-"

I don't hear the rest of the sentence. My mind goes blank, and my blood runs cold. All I want to do is scream, but I can't. I'm paralyzed. Steve doesn't deserve this. That lady – that _fucking_ social worker – is dead. I'll kill her for this.

_No one_ messes with Steve Randle. Not if I have anything to say about it.

"Mister? You okay?"

"Get the fuck outta here," I mutter, clenching my jaw so tight my teeth groan in protest. The kids look at me funny, frowning.

"Hey, you can't just-"

"_Go_!" I yell, ignoring the fact that my voice cracks. They jump, eyeing me with wide, frightened eyes before running off down the street. I watch them till they disappear, then turn back to the house, anguish, once again, taking hold. My throat closes, and my eyes prickle with tears.

"Johnny, this . . . this ain't right," I whisper, my shaking hands gripping the hair on the back of my head.

"I know, man. I know."

"She had no right. She had no fuckin' right!"

Johnny can only nod. I sniff and start my way up the drive. The pick-up we pass is covered in spray paint with the same disgusting words as the house. The tires are slashed, and the windows are shattered, the glass laying in sparkling shards on the ground and inside on the seat. I swallow hard and look away.

How come this place is such a wreck? How come Steve and his dad don't try to clean it up? How come they don't move away?

How can one town be so hell-bent on making someone so miserable?

It just isn't fair.

The porch is even worse close up. More broken bottles and cans are piled so thick we have to shove some aside just to get to the door. The screen that I thought had been falling off its hinges isn't even on any hinges at all. It leans haphazardly against the door, looking about ready to crash to the ground. Johnny and I make our way through the mess as careful as possible, trying not to step on any pieces of broken glass.

"Pony," Johnny hisses at my shoulder as we finally reach the door and I raise my fist to knock. "Look, man, I know you really wanna see him, but . . . don't you think this might cause him more trouble, you showin' up here and all when he's got a restraining order against him?"

I shoot him a dirty look before knocking hard three times, holding my breath.

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard for any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity.

Again, I'm really, really sorry guys! I already have a bit of the next chapter written, so it shouldn't take me so long to update this one anymore. Later, Gators! Catch you on the flip side.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**AN: **/hides behind Darry to avoid angry looks/ So sorry to keep you waiting for this chapter, peeps! I wrote it down on a bunch of receipt tape from work, and it got lost a while back. I just recently found it in a bunch of _other _receipts in my purse... Yea, I know. But I've gotten over my stupidity, and so should you. :) So no more talking! I've kept you waiting long enough... Though I'm sure you're gonna hate me again after this chapter too. sad day Enjoy!

_Chapter Eleven:_

No one answers when I knock a third time, and I sigh exhaustedly, rubbing at the back of my neck.

"They probably left, Pony," Johnny says softly. "I mean, who would want to stick around a place like this?"

"They got nowhere else to go," I argued, noticing the spite in my voice but not really caring. I turn back to the door, determined to do what I came to do.

My fingers grip the doorknob tightly, and I take a deep breath. It twists easily in my hand, and the door jerks open.

"Pony," Johnny squeaks behind me, taking hold of my shoulder and squeezing almost painfully. "I don't think we should-"

The sound of a gun cocking echoes out to us from within the house, and my heart leaps into my throat.

"Don't move a damn muscle, punk," a gruff voice says from behind the door.

"M-Mister Randle?" I stutter, releasing the doorknob and beginning to raise my hands.

"I'll shoot!" Mister Randle threatens. "You're trespassing. I've already got reason enough to drop you where you stand. Just get the hell off my property."

"Mister Randle," I try again, grateful that I don't stutter this time, "we're here to see Steve."

"Steve ain't none of your business. Just leave us alone! We ain't done nothin' to nobody."

"I know that, Mister Randle. I'm Ponyboy Curtis from Tulsa. Darrel Curtis's little brother. I'm friends with Steve."

There is a long pause before the door opens a little wider and a pair of tired eyes looks out at us.

"Who's that with you?" Mister Randle demands.

Johnny jumps slightly at the acknowledgment and says, "Uh, Johnny Cade, Sir. F-Friend of Steve's."

Mister Randle eyes us warily once more before swinging the door open, careful to shield himself behind it as we enter. I catch sight of the single barrel shotgun clutched tightly in his hand and swallow. I didn't know Steve's dad owned a gun . . .

"Wait over there." He motions towards a ratty couch in the middle of what I think is supposed to be their living room. Johnny and I do as we're told, sitting down while Mister Randle disappears down the hall and through a door. There is some hushed conversation before he comes out again, Steve in tow.

"Pony?" He asks softly, and I'm on my feet before I know it, quickly closing the distance between us.

"Steve!" I sob, wrapping my arms around him. Steve hugs me tight as I bury my face in the crook of his neck, the tears flowing before I can stop them.

"Ponyboy, what the hell do you think you're doing here?" He breathes in my ear, contradicting his words by holding me even tighter. "How'd you find us? You're not supposed to be here."

"I don't care," I nearly wail, fisting the back of his shirt. "You shouldn't be here! This place is awful! You have to come home, Steve! You can't stay here!"

"Sh," Steve soothes, rubbing my back and stringing his fingers through my hair. "Pony, you know we can't move back there. And you should know better, coming here. You could get into a lot of trouble, and so could we."

"I'm sorry," I mumbled into his neck, breathing in his scent. He always smells like cologne and oil.

There's a quiet moment between us before he speaks again. "Your brothers know you're here?"

I can't help the bark of laughter that escapes my throat. "You think I'd be here if they did?"

Steve sighs. "C'mon. We should give them a call."

0 o 0 o 0

"Hello?"

The voice that answers is Soda's, and he sounds real worried. The guilt sets in immediately.

"Hey, Soda," I say sullenly, and a sigh of relief comes from the other end.

"Ponyboy, I just don't get you sometimes! You can't just run off and leave a note like that! It's not-"

I hear Darry demand the phone, and the distinct sound of he and Soda wrestling for it sounds for a few seconds. It's quiet before Darry's voice, calm and serious, echoes from the other end.

"Ponyboy?"

"Yea?" I say cautiously, bracing myself for the rant that's sure to come.

"Are you all right?" He asks, surprising me.

"Uh, y-yea," I stutter. "I'm fine."

"Where are you? At Steve's?"

"Yea. Me and Johnny both."

"Okay, lemme talk to Steve."

"Kay." I hold the phone out to Steve, and he takes it, putting it to his ear carefully as if it might burn him.

"Yea?" He listens for a moment before looking at me. "Yea, he's fine . . . Nah, I didn't tell him where I was. He just showed up . . . I know. I'll stick him on the next bus out of here."

"What?!" I say, disappointment making my chest tighten.

"I'll take care of it, Dar . . . No, this doesn't change anything . . . He didn't know. He was just worried, is all . . . Yea, first one that comes through. He and Johnny will be on it . . . Tell Soda I said 'hi' . . . Bye."

He hangs the phone up and turns back to me. "You're headed out on the next bus." He looks at Johnny over my shoulder. "Both of ya. I'll walk you to the bus stop."

"Steve," his dad says warily, his eyes shining with concern. It's quite a difference from the drunken stupor I'm used to seeing.

"I'll be all right," Steve assures him. "I'll just walk there and back. There ain't much trouble I can get into. Don't worry."

"Steve," I say, and he turns to me, his eyes sad and tired, "what'd you mean that I 'didn't know'? What were you and Darry talking about?"

"Get your things, Pony," Steve sighs, brushing his fingers against my cheek.

0 o 0 o 0

The walk back is almost uneventful. The only person we pass on the street is an old lady. She offers us an uninterested glance until she notices Steve. She scowls and spits at him. Steve barely turns his head away, continuing on without a word.

"What the hell, lady?" I say angrily, starting after her. She turns to me with a startled look. Steve grabs my shoulders before I can do anything more, turning me back around and forcing me towards the bus stop once again.

He leans in against my ear, whispering, "Just keep walking, Pony. It don't mean nothin' if you just ignore it."

I want to cut off Miss Spenster's head and feed it to the alligators at the zoo.

This is not the Steve Randle I remember.

Steve Randle wouldn't let anybody spit at him, old woman or not. Steve Randle would have ground that social worker's fat face into the sidewalk before letting her take him away to this place, before saying those awful things about him.

So this is when I realize that the person behind me telling me to forget about being spat upon and keeping things from me – this person who has deserted all hope of any kind – is not Steve Randle.

So when this stranger hugs me goodbye at the bus stop and I don't hug him back, I don't see the hurt in his eyes. Because he's not Steve Randle. And on the ride home when Johnny asks me if I think Steve will be okay, I don't say anything. Because I haven't seen Steve Randle. And when my brothers meet us at the bus stop in Tulsa and scold me for going to see Steve, I'm confused. Because I don't know a Steve Randle. I don't think I've ever heard that name in my entire life.

"Steve who?"

"Ponyboy, don't play dumb. What were you thinking? Anything could have happened to you!" Soda says with annoyance, pulling me into a hug anyway. Darry doesn't say much, just ruffles my hair and pulls me towards the truck.

"No more road trips, Pony," he says softly.

What road trip? Did I go somewhere? Why do they keep mentioning someone named Steve?

Who the hell is Steve Randle?

**AN: **Oh dear... What a cliffie. Please don't hate me! I promise I'll try to be better about updating this time. Later, Gators! Catch you on the flip side. :)


	12. Chapter Twelve

AN: Umm...Hello? _glances around anxiously _Is anyone still out there? _cricket chirp _Yea, that's what I thought...I am so very sorry! I have just been slacking to the extreme on this story. I get so fed up with it sometimes that I can't come back to it for a while. But I think I may actually have an ending in mind for this story...Finally! Within the next few chapters, even. Seriously! I swear! And I've decided to devote my attention to this and one other fic, and that is entirely the truth. I promise! Really, really, really! No more monthly/yearly updating! This sucker is going to be finished by the end of the month if it kills me...And hopefully it doesn't. 'Cause I really wanna finish school and see how much of a failure I am out in the real world...So, without further ado, here is the twelfth chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter Twelve:

I hear Johnny out in the hall from behind the door of my room. "D-Dar, I…I'm real sorry. I shouldn't have let Pony go. I…I didn't mean to cause any trouble. Really." He sounds nervous. He's always been nervous around Darry, though. Lots of people are.

"No one's blaming you, Johnny," Darry's deep tone rumbles, vibrating along the walls.

I sigh, frowning at the blank sheet of paper on my desk. I'm supposed to be writing an essay for a scholarship—something about why cultural integration in schools is important.

"I don't understand what's going on in that head of his," Soda says quietly. "I mean, what did he mean 'who' when we asked him about Steve?"

"I don't know," Darry replies softly, and he's silent for a moment. "Sounds to me like…like he's forgotten who Steve is."

"_Forgotten_?" Sodapop asks incredulously, his voice getting higher. It only does that when he gets real upset, and that doesn't happen very often. "He just _saw _him! How in the hell could he _forget _him? I mean, especially since…"

_Especially since_? What does he mean by that? I glare at the door, wishing they'd realize that I can hear them.

"Like…Like post-traumatic-whatever?" Johnny asks hesitantly. He's not one for chipping in on intense conversations like these, but when he does, it's usually something important. I strain my ears, ignoring the urge to move closer to the door.

"Like what?" Soda demands.

"Um, it's somethin' we learned about in school." Johnny's always a little hesitant to mention school around Soda. But Soda's never minded being a dropout. He's happy being out of school and working, especially since it's something he loves to do. "Like soldiers comin' back from the war. They don't like thinkin' about all the bad stuff they seen, so their minds just…forget."

"Somethin' bad happened while you and Ponyboy were out there?" Darry asks. I can tell he's trying to be calm, but there's something about his tone that makes me think he's worried.

"Nah, nothing bad happened," Johnny explains, and I can hear the shrug in his words. "'Least…I don't think nothin' happened. Ponyboy was pretty quiet after Steve put us on the bus. He didn't even do anything when Steve hugged him—just stood there like he was daydreamin' or somethin'."

I turn back to the paper on my desk, letting their voices fade into muffled murmurs as I concentrate on the tip of my pencil, poised over the very first line like I'm waiting for it to start writing by itself. It does, and for a moment I think I may just get my essay done without any trouble.

But my pencil, suddenly, stops after two words. I look closer and realize I've written a name—a name that I don't recognize.

_Steve Randle_.

The knock on my door makes me jump, and I turn in time to see the knob jiggle and Darry peek into the room.

"Pony?" He asks, opening the door a little wider but not coming in, like he's waiting for permission. I almost frown. He's never done that before. In fact, no one around here does that, unless it's for the bathroom—and even that's only sometimes.

"Yea, Dar?"

Darry comes in and shuts the door, rounding the bed and sitting next to my pillow so that he's facing me. "How're you feeling?"

This time I do frown, drawing my eyebrows together. "I feel fine. What's going on?"

Darry hesitates, looking away from my face and down to the paper on my desk. "What're you writing?" He starts to lean forward to catch a better look at the words, but I grab the paper and crumple it up, throwing it across the room towards the trashcan.

"Nothing," I say, watching the paper miss the rim by an inch and bounce towards the door. "Trying to work on an essay. It's not going so well."

"Oh." Darry nods, again avoiding my eyes. "Well, why don't you take a break? You can come and help me decide what to make for dinner."

I shrug. "I'm not very hungry." I'm starving, actually. I just don't want to sit through an awkward meal with my brothers staring at me and wondering whatever it is they're wondering while I ignore them and push food around my plate.

"Oh," Darry says again. "Well, if you get hungry, we'll have a plate out for you."

"Okay. Thanks, Darry." I turn back to my desk, beginning to write nonsense words on another sheet of paper to look busy. He sits by me a minute longer before I hear the bed creak and his shoes pad across the carpet back to the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him stoop next to the door, retrieving my crumpled piece of paper from the floor. It crinkles as he opens it, and I hear him sigh before he leaves.

0 o 0 o 0

_One Week Later:_

Two-Bit and I have to walk home from school. His car finally bit the big one. I don't mind, though. Walking is all right, if you have someone with you. And Two-Bit's one of my favorite people to walk with. He tells the best jokes and has the best stories. I'm never bored when I'm with him.

He's in the middle of a joke about two blondes and a brunett when we hear the shouts coming from my house. We both drop our books, scaling the gate and bursting through the front door. Darry, Soda, Johnny, and Dally stand around the phone with wide grins on their faces. Darry's holding the receiver up to his ear.

"Thanks, Steve." That name again. "We'll see you soon," he says happily, putting the phone back in its cradle. Soda jumps up and down, whooping like the Greasers just beat the Socs in a big brawl.

"What's goin' on?" Two-Bit asks, a grin already on his face.

"Steve's comin' home!" Soda nearly shouts, laughing. I don't know if I've ever seen him so happy. "Pony!" His hands clamp around my shoulders. "He's comin' back! Steve's comin' back!"

I laugh at his excitement and smile. "That's great, Soda."

The glimmer in his eyes fades, and his hands slip from my shoulders. I glance around, finding everyone staring at me with expectant looks.

"That's…That's really great," I say as convincingly as possible, though obviously not convincing enough. "When does he get here?"

"Tomorrow," Darry answers when no one else does.

_So soon_, I think.

I nod as if that is the answer I want. What I really want to know is why they think I should care.

Steve Randle—he's someone important. To them, at least. And somewhere in the back of my mind, I know he should be important to me, too…

I still don't see why.

"I…I think I'll go do my homework before dinner," I say, side-stepping Soda and walking past Darry without so much as a glance.

Before my bedroom door closes, I hear Dally say, "Kid's still out of it, huh?"

I collapse into the chair at my desk, remembering that my books are still on the ground outside and too tired to care.

0 o 0 o 0

_I dream of the beach. I'm at the water's edge, calling someone's name. _

_The ocean begins to boil, and steam sizzles from blistering bubbles that burst with a loud _pop_! I step back from the heat, not sure why I am standing there anymore._

_There's someone here—someone I can't leave behind. Soda? Darry? Johnny, Dally, Two-Bit?_

_No._

0 o 0 o 0

I wake in a sweat. Soda's shaking me, and I can see his wide, terrified eyes shining in the moonlight streaming from our bedroom window. He keeps saying my name over and over, telling me I've been screaming, asking me what's wrong, if I'm all right.

I don't say anything. I'm not sure.

He lets me wrap my arms around him, bury my nose in the shoulder of his T-Shirt until his soft, familiar scent consumes me. I spend the rest of the night awake in his arms.

What's wrong with me?

AN: Wow, I know this is really short, but it leads up to a longer chapter. Really, it does! Wherein Ponyboy must confront Steve...but still doesn't remember him. _gasp_ Please don't kill me. I promise, new chapter up by the end of this coming week. ReallyReally!

Later, Gators! Catch you all on the flip side.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

AN: Kay, there's only one more chapter after this one, and depending upon my workload this week, it may be finished by Friday...o.O Seriously? By Friday? Yea, by Friday...So here's hoping. :)

_Chapter Thirteen:_

Darry won't let me go to school. I'm too tired to put up much of a fight, but I try.

"But Darry, I've got a test today! I've been studying all week!"

"I've already talked to the school. They said you can make everything up next week."

"_Next week_? It's Wednesday! I can't miss that much school!"

"Little brother, you're sick. I think it'd do you some good to stay home for a few days."

"_I'm not sick_!" I screech, my hands clenched into fists at my side as I glare at Darry from the living room. He sits at the kitchen table, newspaper propped up in front of him like a shield. I feel like throwing something at him, and I start looking around desperately. There's a lamp nearby, and I grab for it. Soda's rough hands clamp around my arm before I have a chance to lift the lamp from the table, and he picks me up, dropping me on the couch.

Darry flips one corner of his newspaper down, narrowing his eyes at me before retreating behind his shield again. Soda plops down next to me, slinging an arm around my shoulders.

"Pony, can't you just be like other kids and be excited about not going to school?" He pleads, and I look up at him, my scowl waning. His eyes are wide and anxious. "You look so tired. Why don't you try to sleep?"

I look away, remembering last night, and shudder. Soda sighs, giving my shoulders a quick squeeze before standing and heading towards the bathroom.

"Come and have some breakfast, Ponyboy," Darry calls, flipping a page.

"I'm not hungry," I mumble, standing and starting down the hall to my room. Soda grabs my arm as I pass by him, pulling me back and pushing me in the direction of the kitchen.

"Pony, _eat something_. Please just…eat."

I frown but wander to the table, sitting heavily in the chair across from Darry. Without looking at me, he slides a plate of pancakes across the table. Reluctantly, I put two on my plate and smother them with syrup. I usually like Darry's pancakes. Today they taste like mud.

0 o 0 o 0

"You're leaving me with _Two-Bit_?" I demand incredulously, staring at my brothers and the grinning fool standing near the door.

"We still have to work, Pony," Soda says apologetically, wincing as I glare at him.

"And why doesn't _he _have to go to school? He's not 'sick.'"

"Ponyboy, just calm down," Darry says. I can tell he's getting impatient.

_Good_, I think. _The angrier I can get him, the better I'll feel_.

Before I can say anymore, Two-Bit jumps in. "You guys go on. I'll look after the runt."

He grins wickedly at my scowl, and I spin on my heels, stomping to my room without saying goodbye to my brothers. I slam the door and sit on my bed, listening to the low murmurs and the closing of the front door.

"Pony?" Two-Bit's at my door. I don't say anything.

The door opens, and there he is, looking apologetic and slightly nervous. Why is everyone so weird around me? Does it have to do with that name? The one I've been hearing from them? The one I write when I let my mind wander?

"Hey, kid." Two-Bit shakes my shoulder, and I turn to find him sitting on the bed beside me. "Hey, you all right?"

"Who's Steve Randle?" I ask, and he looks surprised.

"You really don't remember him?" He asks quietly. I shake my head, and he swallows hard, turning to face the wall in front of us. "Well, I…I think he's someone you'll just have to remember for yourself."

"And what if I don't?" I can tell he doesn't want to answer these questions. He looks like he's going to bolt from the room at any minute.

"You will, kid," he says, swatting my knee before standing and motioning towards the door. "Come on, then. I think Mickey's on."

0 o 0 o 0

Two-Bit can't cook. He tries, which is what should count, but I think the day that he finds someone who'll cook for him everyday will be the best day of his life.

I grimace at the charcoal on my plate, sharing a glance with Two-Bit before we both stand and raid the icebox for beer and chocolate cake. I'm on my second piece of cake and Two-Bit's on his third beer when there's a knock at the door.

Two-Bit is still laughing from some joke he told me—a disgusting joke that I didn't find all that funny—as he stands to answer the door. His laughter dies as soon as the door opens, and when I turn to see why, I nearly choke on the bite of cake in my mouth.

A woman stands at the door—red, frizzy hair, pink coke-bottle glasses, too much lipstick, slip showing beneath a faded, plaid skirt that doesn't match her jacket.

Miss Amanda Spenster. My social worker.

"His brothers ain't here," Two-Bit says abruptly, pulling me from my stupor.

She's staring at me, and she doesn't look away as she answers, "I'm not here to see his brothers. I'm here to see _him_."

Two-Bit glances at me anxiously. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

"I'll only be a minute," she presses almost desperately. "I'm not here as his social worker. I just need to talk to him."

Two-Bit looks like he's about to say "no" again, but there's something about the way she's staring at me that makes me say, "Two-Bit, let her in."

He turns to me with raised eyebrows. "Your brothers aren't going to like this, Pony."

"Two-Bit," I repeat, standing and heading into the living room, "let her in."

Two-Bit reluctantly stands aside, and she steps in, watching me carefully. I feel like one of the dangerous animals at the zoo, the ones that people just have to see but are a little wary of because their cages seem too small and flimsy.

"Yea?" I ask, not bothering with being polite.

"Ponyboy, I'd just like to say…" She stops, and the confidence that had been on her face only moments before is gone. She looks afraid to say anything else.

I don't feel sorry for her.

"Yea?" I say again, suddenly wanting her to leave, regretting ever letting her come in.

"I'm sorry," she blurts, and for a minute I can see how young she is. God, she's probably not even forty yet. "I'm sorry about what happened, and I'm sorry about Steve Randle. I just thought—"

"Steve?" I ask, stepping forward. "You're sorry about Steve?"

"I think you need to go," Two-Bit says from beside her, grabbing Miss Spenster's arm and ushering her towards the door. "Pony, go finish your cake."

"Wait," I say desperately, reaching out.

"I'm sorry," she says, and I take a good look at her.

I see frizzy hair and lips with too much red. I see wrinkles around eyes and a mouth that probably don't belong there yet. I see a woman too worn out to remember what it felt like to be young…and I see someone who took something from me—some_one _from me.

"You," I whisper, and Two-Bit stops, watching me with worry. "It was you." I take another step towards her. She looks scared. "You're the reason I can't remember."

"Ponyboy," she starts, her voice faltering as I take another step, my eyes dark and accusing.

"Get out," I seethe. Her eyes widen, but she doesn't move. Two-Bit looks almost frightened. If I wasn't so damn angry, I might stop to revel in that fact. But she's still here, and I growl low in my throat.

"_Get out_!" I bellow.

And then she's gone.

0 o 0 o 0

"You should've seen 'im, Darry," I hear Two-Bit say in a hushed voice. I don't think anyone realizes just how small our house really is. "He just…He was…so angry. I've never seen anyone like that before."

"Do you think he remembers?" Soda asks hopefully.

"I don't think so," Two-Bit says quietly. "I asked him. He doesn't know why he got so angry."

But I do.

I cover my head with a pillow, listening to their deep, muffled tones until the front door closes, and then the only voices left are Soda's and Darry's. It goes silent, and my bedroom door opens.

"Pony?" Soda's voice is soft, almost scared. I don't say anything, hoping he'll think I'm asleep. He sighs, and I hear the door close.

0 o 0 o 0

_I dream about the ocean. Dark clouds are everywhere, and the water rolls violently. _

_I shout a name into the storm, but my voice carries away on the wind. I keep shouting, and soon I see a hand reach from the water. _

_My heart thuds in my chest. I can feel salt water in the back of my throat, and it stings. I call again, and the hand reaches further. I'm tired. It hurts. But I fill my lungs as full with ache and pain as I can get them, and I scream. _

0 o 0 o 0

I wake with a name on my lips, a name that I scream into the dark as painful memories flood my mind.

"_Steve_!"

AN: One more chapter! One more chapter! One more! One more! One more chapter!


	14. Chapter Fourteen

AN: And so we come to the end. Finally, huh? Good grief! I don't think I've ever taken this long on a story...and felt so horrible about it. Really, guys. I'm sorry. So very sorry. It will never happen again. I should have just made myself sit down and finish this thing a long time ago. But no more beating myself up about it. It's done, and I can move on to other things. So enjoy this last chapter!

Chapter Fourteen:

Soda's hands are on me, his arms around me. I scream harder. Darry's beside us in an instant, his hair disheveled, asking what's wrong. Soda can't answer; he's too busy trying to keep me still.

But I won't be still. My head is on fire. Too many memories try to push their way forward. Too many thoughts try to make themselves known. It hurts. It hurts bad.

But Steve is there through all of it. He calls me a stupid kid and asks me why I would walk home alone when Socs are out looking for stupid Greaser punks like me to jump. He rolls his eyes and says I'm just a meddling kid brother as he beats Soda at arm-wrestling. He pushes me up against a wall and kisses me senseless. He grinds his hips into mine, fisting the blanket beneath me. He hugs me tight, telling me we can't see each other anymore, that he's leaving. He puts me on a bus, making me leave him, forget him.

And then it stops, and I'm quiet, still in Soda's arms. I pant heavily, shuddering and crying.

"Ponyboy?" Soda asks, and I can hear the tears in his voice. "Pony, say somethin', _please_. What's wrong?"

"Was it a nightmare?" Darry asks, his tone trembling.

"It's never been this bad before," Soda says quietly. "I ain't ever heard him scream like that."

"Steve," I whimper, and there is quiet for a moment.

"Pony, what did you—"

"Steve," I say louder, lifting my head and looking at them desperately. "I need to see Steve. I need Steve." My brothers are stunned, their faces blank and their eyes wide. "Steve's back. Steve's home…Why is Steve home?"

Darry pulls himself together first, swallowing and saying, "There was…something wrong with the case."

"Your social worker lied," Soda adds, his tone distant and bitter.

"Lied?" I ask, and they share an anxious look. "What do you mean?"

"She said things about Steve," Darry whispers. "Things about…what he did to you."

"Steve didn't do _anything _to me," I say defensively, my eyebrows drawing together. "He didn't…He _wouldn't_…"

"We know," Soda nods, brushing my sweaty bangs from my forehead. "That's why we helped him."

"You helped him?" I shouldn't be surprised. I know that they both like Steve, no matter what's been happening between us. But I wonder why they didn't tell me what was going on, and I'm almost angry again.

"We did," Darry confirms. I can see he's holding his breath, hoping that this will be over soon. "Your social worker lied on other cases too, and we took what we found to a judge. He dropped the case, and Steve—"

"Steve's here," I interrupt, my breaths coming in shallow gusts. "Steve's home." I look between my brothers—my brothers who have only ever wanted the best for me and who have brought back the one person that can keep me happy. "I need to see him."

I jump from Soda's arms, throwing clothing around until I find a pair of jeans and my worn sneakers, shoving them on.

"Pony, it's three in the morning," Darry points out exhaustedly.

"I need to see Steve," I mutter, heading for the bedroom door. Darry stands in my way. "Darry, I need to see him." I must look pathetic, because his stern look softens, and he sighs.

"I'll call him," he says finally, frowning. "His father isn't going to like this. It's probably the first decent night's sleep they've gotten since—"

There's a pounding on the front door, and my heart thunders against the inside of my ribcage. Darry turns, and I try to take advantage of the situation by slipping by him, but Soda's there, a firm grip on my arm.

"Stay here," Darry warns, and I fidget restlessly as he disappears around the corner, Soda running a soothing hand up and down my back.

I hear the door open and Darry's grunt of amusement before he says, "Bit late for a house call."

"I know," a familiar voice replies breathlessly, and my breath hitches, my throat closing around a large lump. "I'm really sorry, Darry. I didn't mean to wake you and all."

"You didn't wake anyone," my brother says tiredly, and I hear footsteps in the living room. "We're all awake. Pony…" He trails off, giving an aggravated sigh.

"Is he all right?" The other voice asks worriedly, and I abruptly break from Soda's grasp, rounding the corner and stopping as I catch sight of a blessedly familiar person.

Steve Randle stands in our living room, face pale and drawn, his form hunched and his hands shoved deeply into his pockets.

"I'm fine," I murmur quietly, and he turns in my direction, wide eyes staring uncertainly. "I'm fine."

Steve watches me carefully, swallowing a couple of times. "You wanna go for a walk?"

I smile and nod, looking to Darry hopefully. He frowns, his eyebrows furrowing as he glances at the clock hanging on the wall above the phone.

I almost think he's going to say "no," but then he sighs and says, "Don't go too far. Half-an-hour, you hear?" The last part is directed towards Steve, and he nods once.

"Half-an-hour," he repeats, motioning me towards the door.

"Pony," Soda says from behind me, and I turn to find him holding out one of Darry's jackets, "it's cold outside."

"Thanks, Soda." I smile and slip the jacket on. It's big—reaches down almost to my knees.

I lead Steve out the door, and we start down the street. We're quiet all the way to the park, but it gives me a good chance to look him over out of the corner of my eye.

He's skinny, pale, but looks a lot better than the last time I saw him. And he's grown, I think—at least an inch. His hair is longer. I know he doesn't like it that long—it interferes with his job. I wish he would smile or smirk or something, anything to tell me that he hasn't changed too much.

He shivers and shoves his hands in his pockets. He isn't wearing much more than a pair of jeans and an open DX shirt. I try to offer him my jacket, but he shakes his head.

"You ain't wearin' anything else under that," he argues, "and I don't want to be the one to tell Darry you caught a cold out here bein' stupid."

I laugh. The old Steve is still in there, I guess. He smiles, and I sigh in relief.

We pass the jungle gym and sit side by side on the merry-go-round, our feet shuffling so that it moves back and forth slightly.

"I heard you were sick," he says quietly, his eyes on his shoes. I bite the inside of my cheek, frowing at the mud caked on my sneakers.

"I forgot."

Steve looks at me, but I can't look him in the eye yet. "Forgot me," he almost whispers, and I grit my teeth.

"I didn't mean to," I say apologetically, my eyes welling with tears. "I didn't _want _to…But my head just kept telling me that you were gone…that you didn't exist anymore."

Steve sighs tiredly. "I never should have started in on you. Things just…ain't turned out right."

"Don't say that." I scowl at my sneakers. "I didn't ask for any of this, and neither did you. It just happened." I look up, finding his eyes set determinedly on me. "But it's over."

"And what if it ain't?" He demands. "What if things just keep happening? What if…" He doesn't finish, but I know what he's thinking. I've heard the stories, read the articles about people like us…people who end up dead in ditches, tied to car bumpers and dragged till half their face is scraped across asphalt, raped in drive-ins while people around them watch or laugh or ignore it.

"That'll never happen to us," I whisper, my voice distant. I try not to shiver as I think of the fountain behind us—cold water filling my nose and my throat, choking on screams and—

"Pony, you're shaking," Steve says, moving closer and wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Are you cold?"

"I know what could happen." My lips are quivering as I turn to look at him. "You and me—I know what people do to guys like us. And that…that scares me."

Steve's fingers tighten around my shoulder. "I would never let anything happen to you, Ponyboy."

"But I know how I feel about you," I continue, putting my hand on his knee. "And it scares me more thinking about what happened already." I take a shuddering breath, shaking my head. "I can't do that again. I won't."

"Sh," he calms me, pulling me to him. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, closing my eyes tight to stop the tears. "It's okay. We'll be all right. Nothing will happen to you. I promise."

I turn my head and kiss him. There are just too many things I want to say, and I can't. I can't because he's here, and everything I want to say goes away. Everything's the way it should be.

He pulls away, leaning our foreheads together and breathing hard. "We should go back."

"No," I breathe desperately, my voice full of pain.

Steve chuckles, but it comes out more of a sob than anything. "I'll see you tomorrow, Pony. I promise."

"Yea?" I ask, the corners of my lips quirking.

"Come on." Steve helps me to my feet, taking my hand.

The walk back from the park takes less time than I want, and soon we're at the gate outside my house. I walk through, and he closes it behind me, his arms dangling over the top.

"Hey, Ponyboy," he says quietly, and I turn back to him, "how come you like me so damn awful?"

I smile wide, stepping back to the fence and leaning casually against the gate between us. He looks nervous, like he isn't sure he wants the answer. I know in a minute he'll be glad he asked for it, though.

I lean in close to his face, our lips barely a breath away, and whisper, "Because you're Steve Randle."

AN: The end. :) All done!


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